Midnight Mossflower 1
by Redwall Survivor Contestants
Summary: 10 creatures...only one will leave the Castle of Professor Falliss alive. What would you do? Relieves your hunger for survival stories, murder, mayhem, and other fun things. Visit our user page to get to our official website. Completed.
1. Introduction: Odd Happenings

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Introduction: Odd Happenings**

_by Stonewall_

"What kind of creatures?" the vole remembered asking.

"Interesting creatures," the squirrel had responded.

The vole sighed; he had had that conversation over two seasons ago, and he still thought the whole thing was odd. It was late autumn now, the last traces of warmth being eroded by a chilling wind. The leaves had long since fallen from the trees, painting the ground in orange and yellow. Yet there could be no appreciating nature's beauty so long as that wind cut like a knife. It wasn't a hard gust, but it was cold enough to cause discomfort to any beast caught in the wilderness of northern Mossflower.

Shivering, the vole tightened his scarf around his neck, pulled his backpack tight, and pressed on, jealously spotting a family of hares gathering fire wood in front of their den. They would keep warm, no doubt! If he had any brains at all, the vole told himself, he would turn around and head back to his home. Isabelle would have a nice warm hearth all ready, and a promise of a hot dinner was even more enticing.

Having been walking a good while, the vole wearily sat upon the stump of a felled tree. His foot paws ached fiercely, and had no hesitation of informing the vole of their discontent. He wasn't surprised: he had been wandering for two seasons now, and his body was bound to be in pain at the end of it. Deciding a rest would do him good, the vole shrugged off the pack from his shoulders, which caused his back to sigh in relief. The vole took no joy from this temporary respite: he was cold, worn out, and still suspicious about the work he had just finished. Turning to face away from the wind, the vole closed his eyes, allowing his sight to take a break as well. His whole body was a wreck, the vole deduced. Why did this Falliss fellow have to live near the mountains? Not only had it made the vole's trek that much longer, but the chill of the oncoming winter made any northern dealings torture to endure. "Never should have taken this one," he sullenly thought. "It's all odd. Don't like it one bit."

_Isabelle hadn't liked it either, after hearing he was going away again. "Obadiah," she had chided, "you're getting to old to be messing around in shady business!"_  
The vole opened his eyes, awakening from his daydream with a sudden realization. The tavern! Of course, it had been around this part of the woods, right on the fringes. Here he was, freezing himself silly, when there was an establishment where he could rest warmly and properly. A well timed gust of wind convinced Obadiah's joints to cease their complaining and get moving again. Retrieving his backpack from the ground, the vole restarted his cold, lonely walk.

Obadiah had shrugged, trying to placate the wrath of his wife. "Now Izzy," he explained, "I should only be gone a season or two. That's not as bad as that fishing job I took down south. How long was that, eh? Four seasons?"

Isabelle snorted. "Five, actually. And at least that time there was no mystery involved. From what you've been saying, I wouldn't go any further than my front door."

In response, the vole displayed a small bag, generously filled with gold. "But he's already given me half already, so I don't reckon he'd be happy if I didn't follow up with my end of the deal." Knowing Isabelle wasn't convinced, he added, "And besides, after I finish this job and collect the rest of my pay, we can get ourselves one of those comfortable houses close to town. Not just a hut, mind, but a whole house! And wouldn't that be fine, eh?"

Isabelle crossed her arms, but knew she wouldn't change her husband's mind. "Well, on your own head be it, Obadiah, but you be sure you're careful. The whole thing is odd. Who is this Professor Falliss anyway?"

Obadiah looked at his feet, waffling. Isabelle had already voiced her displeasure, and she wouldn't like the answer to her question. "Er, well… the thing is, I don't really know. He didn't talk to me personally. I met up with one of his servants when I was at a tavern…"

It would prove to be worth it in very short order, however. He had not traveled much farther north when he caught a glimpse of white smoke rising to the sky, just beyond the ever receding wall of trees. Eager to leave the increasingly chilly outdoors behind, Obadiah increased his pace, noting that he was very close to the end of the forest. Onwards he went until finally the trees disappeared altogether, revealing a homely looking cabin, standing in picturesque glory in front of the still distant mountains. The tavern was titled Wood's End; aptly named, having been made out of trees felled at the edge of Mossflower, as well as marking the end of woodland territory and the beginning of northern land. There was nothing shady nor ominous about Wood's End: the building itself was well kept, and was owned and run by a former otter captain who dealt with any trouble quickly and efficiently.

The otter in question was stoking the flaming logs in the fireplace, much to the pleasure of other travelers gathered inside Wood's End. The building's interior was of simple design, the majority of the furniture being made from the same wood as the house. Yet it held a charm that attracted drifters and wanderers seeking refuge from the cold northern wind.

Any kind of beverage could be asked for and received, and on this particular day, the common request was tea, soup, and anything else that warmed a creature's insides. Obadiah personally preferred something a little stronger, but had given up drinking alcohol a long time ago. Besides, he was keen on enjoying a hot bowl of barely and vegetable soup, which a sign claimed was the special dish today. Savouring the pleasant atmosphere of Wood's End, the vole staggered towards a particularly comfortable chair near the fire. Removing his backpack once more, he flopped heavily onto the soft cushion. Oh, that was nice! Much better than a tree stump.

The old otter, still stoking the fire, had heard the deep, contented sigh emit from the vole, and greeted the newcomer with a friendly wave. "G'afternoon, mate. That wind's something else today, eh? Not fit for any decent beast to stretch the old legs!"

Obadiah laughed and nodded in agreement. "Aye, and isn't that the truth? I'm getting to old to be making these trips. Should've listened to my wife and stayed home."

Laying the metal poker aside, the otter sagely replied, "If there's one thing I hear more than anything, its beats ruing that they didn't listen to their Missus. Now, what can I fetch for you to cut out that shivering?" Obtaining the vole's request for soup, the otter strolled to the kitchens and returned a minute later bearing a well filled bowl of vegetable soup, not spilling a drop as he handed the dish and spoon to Obadiah. "There now, that'll get the feeling back in your paws!"

Obadiah gingerly sipped the broth, satisfaction plastered on his face. "Oh," he remarked as he slurped, "oh-ho-ho! Oh, I needed that, sure enough! Just the thing to keep me going, thank you kindly!"

The old otter bowed dramatically. "Naught but the finest in this house, sir! Now, while you make yourself comfortable, would you like me to hang up your scarf? Your coat? Your bag…"

"No!" the vole answered compulsively. The suddenness and sharpness of this denial obviously caught his host off guard, and Obadiah felt self conscious of his rudeness. "No, thank you," he continued more genially. "Didn't mean to jump on you like that, but I haven't let that bag leave my sights for two seasons now. It's the reason I'm up here after all, and I'm almost rid of it. But I'm going to see it delivered safely, mark my words!" As he spoke, he continued to glare at the bag, as if it was mocking him somehow.

Sensing he had touched upon a sensitive subject, the otter didn't force the issue. "Suit yourself, mate. Can I do anything else for you?"

Reluctantly, the vole recalled his purpose being north in the first place, and felt his pleasure vanish. "Yeah, actually," he began hesitantly, not comfortable asking something that made Obadiah himself uneasy. "This bag, I'm supposed to deliver it to a fellow who lives around here. Goes by the name of Falliss."

The otter's eyes widened slightly, and his brow furrowed as if seeing his guest in a new light. "Oh aye?" he murmured.

Obadiah's suspicions had been all but confirmed by the otter's reaction. "Aye," he answered. "Well, I know he lives near the mountains, but I'm not to keen on scouring the area looking for him, not with winter coming. I don't suppose you could give me directions? That is, if you know where he lives?"

Having decided that the vole looked innocent enough, the otter acquiesced. "You're in luck, mate. Professor Falliss…" He had been about to say "lives," but it didn't seem like the right term. "…is believed to reside in an old castle, built at the base of a mountain not too far from here. You could probably make it there by nightfall." There was a minute of awkward silence, until the otter spoke again. "Don't answer this if you'd rather not, mate, but have you ever actually met the Professor?"

Obadiah shook his head. "Not face to face. I ran into a beast who said he represented Falliss. It was here, now I think on it. At one of those tables over there. It was him who asked me to do some… research for the Professor." Now it was the vole's turn to eye the other with suspicion. "Er, there's not something I should know about him, is there?"

The otter leaned against a chair, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I'd reckon there's a thing or two about Professor Falliss that warrants knowing, to be sure. But there's no one around here who could tell you much about him. Falliss hasn't left that castle since he arrived there, and that was many seasons ago. He must be right old now, if he's still alive. Anyone who knew him before hand is long dead. Myself, I don't even know what species he is! If he needs something, he sends one of his servants to act under his name.

"And that's something else that's odd about Falliss. His servants all have the personality of a mud hole. They don't seem to want to do anything but aide the Professor. And that goes for both kinds."

Obadiah was perplexed. "Both kinds? Both kinds of what?"

"Creatures, sir! The Professor employs woodlanders and vermin alike, and none of them act any different than the other. Not any better, not any worse. Now, I wouldn't mind us all getting along, but not by becoming walking dummies."

Obadiah thought back to the servant he had talked to. He had been stone-faced and deliberate, but well spoken and educated. "Dummies" might not have been the right word for it.

The otter hadn't finished yet. The truth was, he rather liked discussing rumours and mysteries, and was pleased to find a willing audience. "And then we get down to the queerest of it all: that castle he lives in! The place used to belong to some royal family or rather, who used to have a kingdom of sorts up north. Well, things go bad for them, so the king takes his family and court and hightails it to that castle and locks the door. Now, whoever it was that was after them never shows up, but the family never comes out anyway! Now, what do you make of that?"

The vole couldn't help but smile wryly. "Surely you aren't suggesting the place is haunted?"

The otter shrugged. "Who's to say it isn't? I've never been in there, and the servants aren't talking. But I had a group in here a while back, when I first built Wood's End. Treasure hunters, they were, and they reckoned that the old king must've had some loot stored away in the castle. So they go to check it out, and sure enough, they wind up disappearing too! It isn't natural, two parties separated by how many generations, each vanishing in the same place like that."

Reasonably shaken, Obadiah still tried to feign disbelief. "It's queer, yes, but I think it can all be explained somehow."

His attention grabbed by a duo of mice gathered at a table, the old otter began to walk away. "Well, if you're bent on going there yourself, I hope it can be explained. I'll give you directions in a minute." And with that, he began to chat with the mice, enjoying far brighter topics of conversation.

As for Obadiah, any pleasure he could have derived from his soup was gone now. The whole thing was odd, and the otter's stories didn't help matters. The vole wasn't about to but into every spook story he was fed: more often than not, those added up to the locals trying to pull the leg of ignorant travelers. But curse it all, it was strange! He picked up the backpack and looked inside. As always, he could see three fair sized journals, perfectly innocent looking. The vole glared at the unfeeling books. They were what this was all about! They were the cause of his involvement in this strange business! He was tempted to hurl them into the fire and forget this whole thing… but that wouldn't do. Obadiah had been paid half in advance, and it had been a tidy sum. Not only did it go against his morals of keeping a promise, but he didn't fancy the repercussions of cheating Professor Falliss would be pleasant. No, he would have to go through with it. It was almost over. He had done what was asked of him…

Obadiah stared at a table tucked away in a corner of the room. That was where it had happened, two seasons ago…

_…He was trying to enjoy his herbal tea, doing his best to ignore the urges to indulge in a mug of beer. It was always refreshing this time of spring, right after the snow had melted. Somehow, it seemed a more appropriate way of welcoming warm weather than by drinking hot beverages. Obadiah eyed his steaming cup of light green liquid with distaste. He had never liked tea: much too bitter. But he had sworn to Isabelle that he wouldn't drink, even when he was travelling, and continued to sip from his cup, grimacing after every gulp._  
…And it was still odd, he thought as he trudged down the path. The whole thing was odd! He had left Wood's End a while ago, the old otter giving him directions and "good luck" before he went. It was dusk now, and ordinarily Obadiah's eyelids would have been drooping. But he was far too anxious, and maybe just a little scared, to think about sleep now. He was coming to the end of this strange journey, and he wanted to get it over with.

His mind was occupied with the job he had just finished. A simple one this time, assisting the building of a barn some miles west of Woods End. It hadn't taken long at all, and he had made decent money out of it. Isabelle didn't like his being away, of course, but that was an occupational hazard. He would make it up to her somehow. Maybe a nice dress…

Engrossed in his own thoughts, Obadiah failed to notice the approaching figure until it was directly next to the table. The close proximity of the newcomer forced Obadiah to acknowledge the presence of the tall squirrel with an emotionless face. He couldn't have been an adult for more than a season, but his demeanour was that of an ancient butler. "You are Obadiah Tussle, yes?" the squirrel said. It was phrased as a question, but sounded more like a statement of fact.

Taken aback by both the question and appearance of the stranger, the vole warily answered, "Maybe. It depends on who's asking?"

Either unaware or uncaring about the vole's apprehension, the squirrel sat down on a chair. "I am in the service of Professor Falliss, who lives not far from here." He leaned forward. "You are Obadiah Tussle, worker of odd jobs." It was not a question this time.

Obadiah would have been pleased that news of his odd job business had spread so far north, if not for the peculiarity of the situation. Since the squirrel appeared well informed, there was no point in denying identity. "I suppose I am," he conceded. "What can I do for you?"

The squirrel explained in a dead-pan voice. "The Professor requires research for the subject he is currently studying, but believes it to be impractical to do it himself. As such, he is hiring creatures such as yourself to do the research for him."

The vole stared at the squirrel. No unnecessary words or attempt at conversation. It was eerie, in a way. He had half a mind to ask exactly how this squirrel knew who Obadiah was and where he was staying, but decided he didn't want to know the answer. "Mm-hm," he muttered. "This, ah, research you want me to do. Why doesn't Professor Falliss want to do it himself? If it's something illegal, I'm not interested."

The squirrel shook his head. "It is nothing harmful, I assure you. The Professor thinks that this project requires being able to observe without suspicion, and doesn't believe himself to be inconspicuous enough to accomplish this."

That was a rational enough explanation. There was nothing outstanding about Obadiah's appearance, and he could be overlooked in a crowd. "Fair enough, mate, thought I should warn you I'm no expert on spying."

Again, the squirrel seemed nonplussed at the vole's attempts to create disinterest. "We know. You will only be required to observe and take notes." Cutting off any further objections, he placed a small sack upon the table, which jingled as it moved. "The Professor understands you may be reluctant. As such, he is willing to pay half of your fee up front and half upon completion."

The Professor had assumed correctly: Obadiah was more than willing after looking into the bag and being overwhelmed by the sight of gold pieces. "And this is half?"

"Yes, sir."

It was an offer no odd-job beast could refuse. Moving the bag over to his side of the table, Obadiah smiled for the first time at the squirrel. "Alright, mate, I'm your beast! Now, what does the Professor want me to research?"

"Creatures."

Obadiah waited for further clarification, which was not forthcoming. "What kind of creatures?" asked the vole.

"Interesting creatures," the squirrel replied.

Feeling slightly nervous again, the vole remarked, "That's not much to go on."

The squirrel nodded in agreement. "I will explain. The Professor wants you to observe individual creatures of different species, societies, and cultures. You are to record as much as possible of their personality, appearance, age, history, social standing and anything else you deem important. Be specific as possible, and make sure to find out their names and general location. Record as many different entries as you can find, and then return here in two seasons with your results. The Professor lives north of this place, and should not be hard to find. Do you understand?"

Obadiah blinked. He wasn't sure if he quite knew what was being asked of him. "So… Professor Falliss is paying me to give him information on random creatures?"

"Yes."

The vole felt uneasy. If he had been asked to spy on a specific fellow, he would understand. But to supply the Professor with profiles of strangers seemed unorthodox at best. "If at all possible, can I know why?"

"No."

Obadiah was puzzled and hesitant about what he was getting into, but there didn't seem to be anything else to say. He took the gold, left the tavern, and spent the next two seasons wandering, watching, and writing. He traveled to towns and ports, through forests and swamps, near and far. And he spied on all sorts of creatures: old and young, weak and strong, poor and regal, good and evil, vermin and woodlander. He did what was asked of him, recording names and characters, not raising the suspicion of any beast he analyzed. That was his life for two seasons; But not a day went by that he didn't think it was odd…

The longer he walked, the stronger the feeling Obadiah got that this was going to end badly for him. No one in their right mind would pay for a book of random creatures! The vole figured he would deliver the notes to whomever was present, and would proceed to meat with an unpleasant end. He regretted listening to the otter's stories now; dark, sinister ideas kept creeping in his mind, and he began to see threats lurking behind every shadow. But he didn't turn around. Not after two seasons of walking. He was going to finish the job, his common sense told him, taking him away from his imagined fears. There was probably nothing to worry about. "It's all in your head," he told himself.

The terrain was hilly, and the road dipped up and down as the vole walked. The mountain was in plain view now, and getting ever closer. It was detached from the main ranges still in the distance: a lone, rocky crag standing away from its kin as if shunned. It wasn't very tall, evidenced by the lack of snow on its peak, but its jagged face made it look all the more dangerous. An altogether ugly looking chunk of earth, Obadiah thought as he mounted one particularly steep in hill in the path's way.

And yet, he realized once atop the hill's summit, the castle at the mountain's base was hardly appealing either.

From this hill the land sloped for a long run, giving a full view of Professor Falliss's home. The face of the mountains on this side possessed a deep cleft, giving an overhead impression of a giant V shape. In front of this cleft a great stone wall had been built, and with a flat roof covering the rest of the gap made the appearance of a giant wedge which found the perfect fit in this mountain. The castle's face was flat and sheer, with no protruding structures and very few windows. The only thing that stood out was a tower on the top, standing as beacon and containing the only window out of which light was shining through. There was only one visible entrance into the castle, and that was over a drawbridge which spanned an encircling moat. The castle of Professor Falliss had been built as an impenetrable fortress, and no matter who resided in it now, ages after its construction, it still stood as an unshakable bastion at the foot of an equally impressive rock.

And Obadiah didn't like it one bit. The stories the otter had told managed to take over his mind, coupled with a few imagined fears. Neither reputation nor appearance did anything to make the vole want to press on. They were never seen again… "It's all in your head," he told himself again, with less conviction than before. With no small effort, Obadiah forced himself to go forward. He was going to deliver the journals, just like he had said. It would be all right. But he wouldn't go in the castle, he told himself. No, no, not at all. There was no way he would enter. He would wait until someone came to him. If Falliss wanted the books, he could come and get them himself!

Cautiously, the vole sidled down the slope towards the castle. Although he tried to take his time, he was forced to reluctantly acknowledge the ever looming castle wasn't going away. The closer he got to it, the more foreboding it became, towering over the tiny vole. Scared though he was, Obadiah kept his wits about him, constantly looking out for any threats or traps. But despite his anxiety, there was no sign of danger: the only flicker of life continued to come from the dimly lit tower window. This lack of activity brought up the question: how would anyone know Obadiah had arrived? The drawbridge was up, there was no way to knock, and Obadiah didn't have the heart to shout a greeting. He was only a few yards away from the moat now. The wall stared down at the vole, almost as if it was a living being itself, but nothing made a move to hinder Obadiah's progress. Something wanted him to come closer, and the vole had no choice but to oblige. The hair stood up on Obadiah's neck. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him, waiting for him.

But it wasn't until Obadiah was literally on the edge of the moat that the castle reacted.

A dulled thud emitted from behind the stone wall, followed by various whirring noises of what sounded like heavy gears shifting. The oaken drawbridge shuddered as if being wakened from a deep sleep, and slowly started to fall forward, supported by methodically clicking chains. Obadiah was transfixed, frozen with fear and awe, the ability to think being replaced with the terrible fascination of the present. The imagery of a predator opening its jaws had not escaped him, and he had yet to see a living soul, giving the impression that the castle was acting on its own. "It's all in your head," he tried once more, but there could be no convincing his shaking knees that there wasn't something ethereal going on. He felt trapped by reality, unable to escape the events unfolding before his eyes. And that was what was so frightening: the whole thing was undeniably real.

Finally, the drawbridge completed its journey, comfortably connecting with the earth in front of Obadiah's feet. The vole stared down the wooden walkway, trying to see anything emerging out of the dark arch carved into the castle's face. Minutes seemed like hours, until finally, and with less relief than Obadiah had hoped for, a familiar figure appeared out of the gloom. He still looked as statuesque and unfeeling as he had been when Obadiah saw him last. He strode down the drawbridge slowly, his dull eyes always staring at Obadiah, every bit as ominous and unsettling as the castle itself.

"Mr. Tussle," the squirrel greeted, sounding unsurprised by the reappearance of the vole. "We've been expecting you."

We? So there is more than one of you, Obadiah thought to himself, trying to decide whether that was a good or bad thing. Unable to find the will to attempt conversation, he slipped off the back pack and handed it to the squirrel. "I did it," he choked out. "It's all in here, Three journals worth of 'interesting creatures.'" The squirrel took the bag, and immediately Obadiah's back felt the weight it had born fade away.

The squirrel removed one of the books from the bag and flipped through its pages, nodding approvingly. "Very well done. Exceptional detail. The Professor will be quite pleased." Closing the document and placing it back in its hold, the squirrel gave a small bow. "Thank you, Obadiah Tussle. Your efforts will be put to good use. Professor Falliss wishes to thank you personally. He is waiting in his tower, along with your payment. Will you come inside?"

In that second, all of Obadiah's fear and stress surged through his brain: the stories of the royal family and the treasure hunters; the days of tedious spying; the zombie-like demeanour of the squirrel; the unseen employer; the foreboding, predator like castle. He could feel his nerves ready to burst, and wanted nothing more than to wake up and find it was all a dream. "No!" he shouted, the tension having grown too much. "No, I won't go inside your bloody castle! Go away!"

For the first time, the squirrel seemed taken aback. "Your payment is inside, sir," he repeated, as if Obadiah had overlooked that fact.

The vole backed away hurriedly, paws raised in defiance, "I don't care! Keep it! Keep your money and keep your 'interesting creatures' and keep your odd business to yourself! I'm not going in, do you hear me?! Just leave me alone! And Obadiah turned and ran back down the path, away from the mysterious castle and the unseen Professor Falliss. He was going home to Isabelle, to tell her she had been right, he had been wrong, and hoped that he could forget the entire bizarre ordeal.

And Obadiah Tussle would never know the role his research would play in a demented game developed by an evil mind.


	2. Prologue: Be Our Guest

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Prologue: Be Our Guest**

_by Stonewall_

Jeremy exited the secret passageway, sealed the entrance, ensured it was undetectable, and walked away. Out of all the servants of Professor Falliss, the squirrel alone knew of the passageway leading to the Professor's tower. Whether it was a kind of trust bond with his master, or merely recognition of the squirrel's rank of head servant, Jeremy could not be certain.

The Professor had obviously been excited this morning, Jeremy reflected as he strolled through the candle lit halls, his steps muffled on a plush carpet. Why else would the Master summon him to the tower so early in the morning? "Remember, Jeremy," the Professor had told him, "everything must be made ready prior to our guests' arrival."

Jeremy merely nodded. He knew he wasn't expected to interject his own opinions. "Yes, sire."

"Make sure that the rooms have all been seen to. All must be presentable."

"Yes, sire."

"I'm worried that some things may have been overlooked in the cleaning. Some of the maids have never entertained before, and might have neglected their duties. You will check into it, won't you?"

"Yes, sire."

"Good. I trust you have already seen to the replacement of the old candles?"

"Yes, sire."

"Wonderful. Also, check down to the kitchens and make sure Marcel is prepared to cater. Remember, all pallets must be tended to."

"Yes, sire."

"And Jeremy," the Professor stared at the squirrel intently. "I must be informed of everything. Do you understand? Every step, every move, and every action they make, I must know. Remind the Watchers that no detail is too small, and they are required to record everything. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sire."

"Then get on it."

Jeremy did not feel overwhelmed by the responsibilities on his shoulders. He was perfectly capable of overseeing the preparations. There was already a group of servants replacing the stubs of melted candles with fresh ones. The lack of windows in the castle meant that all lighting had to come from the candles and lanterns which lined the walls and ceilings. The squirrel could find no fault with the progress on that front.

The Professor had been right to worry about the cleaning of the guest rooms, however. The laxness of this issue was exemplified by a pair of maids, a hedgehog and a ferret, whom had begun their sprucing up of one guest room, only to converse on the items they had found in the closet. "Well, I'm no expert on fashion, Marsha," the ferret told her companion, "but even I can tell an ugly dress from a good one." She produced a frilly green gown from the closet, holding it aloft for inspection.

Looking up from her bed sheets, the hedgehog wrinkled her nose, agreeing with the ferret's assessment. "That's for certain, Gladys. Didn't the Master say that this castle used to belong to lords and ladies? I would have thought they had better taste."

Gladys tossed the garment aside and continued rummaging through the wardrobe. "Look at some of these! Ridden with moth holes, most of them. It's a wonder the Master never had these rooms cleaned before."

Marsha ceased her linen duties to inspect the dresses with Gladys. "He never had any need to, I suppose. I can't remember us having guests before. Do you think they'll be handsome?"

"I hope one of them is. Like in that one story I read, where the wretched slave is saved from a beast eating crab by a dashing young hero."

"I don't know what that has to do with the dinner party, Gladys."

"Well, no. But he was handsome in the story, that's my point."

"It still seems like a bit of a stretch. I mean, how does a story about beast eating crabs have anything to do with our guests being handsome?"

"Look, it made sense at the time, alright? Don't fret about it."

"I would prefer it," an emotionless voice declared, "if you would fret about finishing your chores." The young duo turned in surprise to see Jeremy staring coldly at them from the door. Not a sound had hinted at his entrance. Judging by appearances, the squirrel was barely older than either of the maids, yet they heeded him with respect.

Marsha hung her head and shuffled her paws. "Er, sorry, Jeffery," she apologized. "We just got a little distracted…"

Jeremy cut her off by pacing through the bedroom, critically analyzing its condition. The former owner's possessions had yet to be removed; there was still a ponderous amount of dust on the floor; the full length mirror was smudged and unclean; a few cobwebs had accumulated in the corners. "This room," he deduced aloud, "is abysmal. When our guests arrive, they are not going to want to stay in filth like this. How are the other guest rooms?"

Gladys and Marsha looked at one another, their worried eyes trying to convince the other to speak up. Gladys finally took it upon herself to deliver the news. "We… that is… this is the first one we've started on." She felt her gut turn as the unfeeling eyes of the squirrel bore into her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This is the only guest room we've begun to clean," the ferret reiterated. She bowed her head to avoid Jeremy's steely gaze.

Jeremy kept his cool admirably. He turned his back to the unfortunate cleaners, giving them no hint as to what he was thinking. Finally, he passed judgement. "Continue as quick as you can. The guests will be here before noon, and their rooms must be presentable. If I catch you idle again before the job is done, I will have your meals reduced to a pawful of grain. Understood?"

Gladys nodded sullenly, but Marsha looked pleadingly at the back of Jeremy's head. "Jeremy," she begged, "please don't tell the Professor! If he finds out... he'll think we're still too immature… he'll never let us go outside!"

Gladys added her discontent. "We're nearly adults, and we've never gotten to see the village. Most of the others have been allowed. It's not fair!"

Their protests were drowned out by the forceful yet methodical voice of the squirrel. "You _are_ too immature to leave the castle, if this absence of work ethic is any hint. You will have to shape up if you ever want my approval." There was a despondent silence, until he added, "However, if you finish your chores quickly and efficiently, I will not inform the Professor of your lax behaviour."

The maids sighed with relief. "Oh, thank you Jeremy!"

"Really, this means a lot to…"

"Get to work."

The duo restarted their cleaning with extra vigour.

Jeremy exited the guest room, closing the door silently behind him. Vexed though he was, the squirrel kept his composure. The rooms had not been tended to… he scratched his brow. That had to be dealt with hastily. After checking on the only non-guest room of note on the third floor (the study) and finding it to be satisfyingly in order, Jeremy descended the staircase at the end of the hall. The stone steps of the stairs had been covered in maroon carpet, which muffled all paw steps that tread upon it.

The squirrel strode through the hallway of the second floor, eying the ornaments and paintings on the wall; at least _they_ were presentable. There seemed to be a conspiracy afoot: not one servant could be spotted by Jeremy's penetrating eyes. If it had been in his character, Jeremy would have smiled wryly. Obviously, most of them were avoiding the head servant to keep from being given further duties.

And unfortunately for the otter adjusting the book shelves, he was in plain sight upon entering the library.

"Jacob."

The otter tensed up at the unmistakable voice of Jeremy. Curse that squirrel and his abnormally silent entrances! Sadly, there was no pretending to have not heard the greeting. Keeping his face as emotionless as he could, Jacob turned to acknowledge the head servant. "Yes, Jeremy?"

The squirrel examined the otter's body language: the face was adequately neutral, but the sag in the shoulders indicated disgruntled thoughts. "I need you to find a partner or two and assist in the preparations of the guest rooms. Forget cleaning the library for now."

Jacob was hard pressed to keep up his rendition of the stone face which the squirrel had mastered. "If I may," he said, "I've practically finished my chores already. Why should I have to do someone else's as well?"

Jeremy explained. "For reasons which I am not fully aware of, Marsha and Gladys have failed to complete their duties. It is imperative that the guest rooms are tended to, and as such, I am enlisting your services."

Jacob was not placated. "All the same, I do not believe it's fair that I should have to pick up their slack…"

He was interrupted by Jeremy, who finally displayed a lack of patience. "It doesn't matter," he menacingly growled, glaring intently at the otter. "I need those rooms cleaned. First impressions are crucial, and if our guests are greeted by cobwebs and unwashed linen, then they will believe something is amiss, and demand to leave before all is prepared. And if the Professor's experiment is foiled, I do not fancy he will care about whether circumstances were 'fair' or not. Am I clear?"

Jacob had been stunned by Jeremy's heated and uncharacteristic show of temper. Reluctantly nodding, he said, "I'll get on it, then." The otter shuffled out of the library to seek out potential aid for this unwanted task.

Jeremy was not pleased with his fellow servants display of indiscipline. He leaned against a bookshelf. Why were they so reluctant to mature? The squirrel acted as a constant example of what they should all aspire to. And they wondered why they weren't allowed to accompany him outside the castle. As head servant, Jeremy had the final say on who got to see the outside world, and he firmly believed that unless the servants could keep a cap on their emotions, they simply weren't able to deal with foreign issues and interaction. Self control was the key.

Self control… Jeremy straightened up and brushed some dust from his shoulder. There could be no time for self pity. The Professor was depending on him. There was still work to be done.

He exited the library, noticing that Jacob had succeeded in press ganging a small group, who already were filing into one of the guest rooms. Glad though he was that the job was being done, Jeremy still had anxiety over the issue. There were ten guest rooms to be tended to, and the squirrel could only hope that they could be finished in time. Well, if there were any available paws, Jeremy would get them to help.

The squirrel descended another stair case to arrive on the main floor. More servants could be seen dashing about here and there, already busy with their own duties. Jeremy allowed them to continue; most of them had been instructed by the squirrel himself, and he was pleased to see them being obedient.

There was only one thing Jeremy need to look after on this floor. Continuing at his own pace, the squirrel made his way to the main gate room. It was here that the only entrance and exit into the castle could be found. A small gatehouse had been built into the room, where the massive drawbridge could be controlled. Also present were a pair of portcullis: one hanging over the drawbridge entrance, and one over the door leading further into the castle. The gate room had been built with defence in mind, not décor, and despite the addition of the familiar carpet on the floor, it wasn't the most appealing entry.

Jeremy regretted the rather drab first impression the gate room provided, but there was nothing to be done about it. Banishing appearances from his mind, the squirrel strode to the gate house, where a female rat was making her own last minutes checks. She critically examined the myriad of pulleys and gears which lined the walls of the room, ensuring the ancient machines were still functional. "Good morning, Jeremy," she muttered, without turning to look at the squirrel.

The lack of enthusiasm in the rat's voice was not overly discouraging; frankly, the squirrel was happy to see someone taking their duties seriously. "Good morning, Agatha. I trust things are running smoothly?"

Agatha turned. Her voice and appearance was as neutral as Jeremy's, yet there was a subtle air of discontent about her. "You don't need to subject me to your micromanagement, Jeremy," she coolly informed him. "We both know that I was competent enough to be head servant myself. Except you had the advantage of being half a season older."

Jeremy nodded, confirming Agatha's comments. If he felt any smugness or superiority, however, he didn't show it. "I have no qualms about your capabilities, Agatha. I'm merely ensuring everything has been tended to. And I have no doubt that you have everything under control."

Agatha returned the business like attitude. "I have just finished checking the gate machinery. Both the draw bridge and portcullis should function perfectly."

"And the gate keepers?"

"They have their orders. The door is to remain open until all the guests have arrived. I've seen to it that the gate house is well stocked with provisions, should things go longer than expected."

Jeremy approved. "Excellent. Now, if you will excuse me, I must check on the kitchens. I need to know if Marcel is ready…"

"I already checked," Agatha announced, with no small sound of triumph in her voice.

The squirrel couldn't help but show small surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"I talked to Marcel myself. He has his staff preparing all the usual dishes, as well as one or two of his own creations. I also made sure that he had an assortment of meats and vegetables available upon request." The rat stood just a tad taller as she gave her report.

The head servant blinked. "I wasn't aware that the Professor had given you orders as well."

"He hadn't. But given that we are hosting a dinner party, it seemed rational that some one should check one the food stores. And since you have other servants to… see to, I decided to take the initiative. After all, we wouldn't want you to get overwhelmed."

Jeremy didn't change his facial expressions in the slightest. "I am fully able to attend my work, Agatha."

"I hope so. It would be a pity if you were to collapse under strain."

"It would be a pity indeed."

"Good bye, Jeremy."

"Good bye, Agatha."

The squirrel left the gate room, his pace quickening slightly. He wasn't certain how much time was left. The castle really needed to get some windows, he reminded himself. At least then he could see how far the day had progressed. But, for the most part, everything was running relatively smoothly. Last minute preparations were being seen to, some progress had to have been made on the guest rooms, and if Agatha was to be believed, the kitchen was running smoothly as well. There was only one thing left to be inspected now. And for the first time that morning, Jeremy knew there was nothing to be worried about.

Upon entering the servants' quarters, the squirrel was greeted by a rush of beasts hurrying to get into ranks. They were woodlander and vermin alike, yet each of them bore a blank face, perfect posture, and were devoid of any signs of individuality. They were Jeremy's best: the ones who accompanied him to the villages, the ones who had proven themselves as capable servants, and the ones who had been given the most important task in this escapade.

Though the room was crowded, Jeremy didn't need to raise his voice. "You have all been briefed on your duty, so I feel no need to reiterate. However, the Professor wishes to remind you that no detail is too small. If you see them do anything, mark it down. You do all have your notepads, yes?"

A coordinated, silent nod was the response.

"Good." Jeremy walked by the numerous empty faces, talking as he went. "You will each operate in groups of two. One will watch while the other rests, until the appointed shift is over. I do not want any beast's senses to falter, so obey your shifts diligently. Each of you have been assigned a specific position. You are not to leave that position for anything, or until you are instructed to do so by myself or the Professor."

He had reached the end of the room now, the servants all behind him. "You are my best. As such, you have been entrusted by the Master to the greatest responsibility of his experiment. I know your quality, and I know you will not let me down. Now go."

Jeremy turned around. There was no one in the room but himself.

Good.

The squirrel sighed heavily. He had done everything in his power. There was really nothing left to do now but wait…


	3. Working Holiday

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of week one.

**Chapter 1. Working Holiday **

_by Nallmian_

Oakshade whimpered slightly, squirming against the ropes tying him to a very uncomfortable wooden chair, eyes turned upwards towards the heavy mace suspended high over his head by a tenuous strand of rope. The squirrel's jaws were bound tightly together. With wide eyes, he watched his beaming captor as the stoat sat on the edge of a table. Captain Nallmian of Lord Whitefire's Red Ember Horde watched his captive with obvious enjoyment. Leaning in towards the squirrel, he widened his eyes, curled his mouth downward into a petulant looking pout, and made his voice comically high and squeaky.

"I'm pure, I'm nice, I wuv all my widdle woodland friends, and someday, if I eat all my dinner and do what the nice mousey that only I can see or hear says, that big bad albino will go away, and we'll live in a magical happyworld where all our dreams come true, nobody's ever sad, and we can all sit around feasting all day long!" The stoat laughed, leaning back and assuming his normal voice and demeanor. "Honestly, Oakie—can I call you Oakie?—How do you keep a straight face while that little lunatic is talking to you? Seriously! You follow some warrior who comes out of nowhere and openly admits to seeing creatures nobody else can see, and hearing voices nobody else can hear. And these voices tell him to do bad things to other creatures. Hmm…." Nallmian looked thoughtful. "I think there might be a long, fancy-sounding name for someone like that. Or maybe we can just call him crazy. That's easier. Come on, I bet even you can spell crazy! It's c-r-a…oh, why does it matter? You probably can't spell anything, on account of the fact that you can't read, and right now can't even talk."

Nallmian slid off his table and ripped the gag of Oakshade, who gasped for air. "P-p-please. Just let me go. I'm j-just a poor, humble woodland thief tryin' to get by. I'll never come here again, I swear!"

Nallmian pulled back his arm and sent his fist rocketing towards the bound squirrel's face. Oakshade yelped in anticipation, but Nallmian stopped his paw an inch from Oakshade's face. The squirrel's eyes almost crossed looking at Nallmian's fist, when suddenly the stoat flicked out his fingers, smacking the squirrel on the nose lightly. Oakshade practically jumped out of his fur. Nallmian chuckled.

"Loosen up Oakie. You've been giving us one devil of a time the last few seasons. Sneaking into the windows and the secret passages, making off with food and drink, sometimes taking weapons, too. And not just that, Oakie. You haven't just been a bad little squirrel, you've been a VERY bad little squirrel." Nallmian leaned in towards Oakshade's face until they were almost touching, and spoke very, very softly.

"You see, Oakie, you're more than a thief and a scavenger. You haven't just been taking things away, you've been leaving things. Things like little vials of poison dumped into wine, ground up glass in flour. And some of my troops ate that poison, and some them died. They may just be vermin hordebeasts to you, but to me they mean something because they are mine. Lord Whitefire gave them to me, and I don't like it at all when creatures hurt them. And guess what Oakie?" Nallmian leaned in and whispered into the squirrel's ear. "I'm not feeling so happy any more." The stoat leaned back and then sent his forehead smashing into Oakshade's muzzle. He followed the headbutt with a punch to the sternum that left the squirrel gasping.

"You hurt my hordesbeasts. That's why I put those delicious succulent pasties in a room you love to rob and sent the guards out on an errand. Greedy little thing that you are, you sampled them, and were just having too much fun to fend me off when I jumped from behind the barrels I was hiding behind. And so…" Nallmian gestured upwards at the mace suspended by its thin rope. "That's why your sitting under a very heavy metal object set to fall on your skull if you don't tell me something interesting very quickly. Now here's what you need to figure out. Who do you care about more, yourself, or some delusional little ponce of a mouse who hears funny voices in his head? I'd make up your mind pretty quickly, because I didn't tie that knot very well."

"The Lances, they'll—"

"Do what? You want to know a little secret, Oakie? Remember that rich, dark, high quality damson wine that you stole from those guards who so conveniently left it out where you could take them? Well, you're not the only one who can put nasty little things in other creatures' food. I used to be a healer's apprentice when I was growing up, Oakie, before I decided patching beasts up was less fun than slashing them open in the first place. I know all sorts of things that aren't good to eat. And guess where I put something very, very unhealthy?" The stoat was smiling again. "Right in the wine. Now, I don't know about you, but if I was a Freedom's Lance, I would turn that stuff right over to my favorite superiors, to the leaders I really liked, or to the leaders I thought might be impressed enough to do something for me someday. It's a slow acting poison, a subtle one, but still quite powerful. That was about a four days ago that you stole the wine. They should already be getting sick. And not long after they get sick…they die."

Oakshade's face contorted in horror. "Oh no, no please, you're lying." The squirrel snarled, even as tears started to well up. "You're lying! You're lying! You're—" Nallmian grabbed the squirrel's muzzle and held it closed tightly as tears began to flow.

"No, little thief. I am not lying. They're probably already dead. And not just them. Those bottles were big enough to spread the merriment around a bit. I wonder how many of them are dead. And not only that, but they're going to be dying right after you go to do some thievery and fail to come back. I took you straight here, you were never in the dungeons with the others, so even if they have a spy there, who will know? They know you're a poisoner, Oakie. They know you're a thief. I've already got some of your precious Lances by the tails, and I have them feeding in information that doesn't look very good for you, not good at all. I could let you go right now with a big bag of gold. Do you think they'd believe you? Do you think even the voices in little mousey's head would buy your story? I don't. " Nallmian stepped back and the squirrel began to sob.

"Time's up, Oakie. You need to make a choice. I can kill you. They can kill you. Or you can live. Give us something good, and we'll walk you to the border and send you off. Maybe even give you something for your trouble."

"No." The squirrel looked up, tears still wet on his fur, but with defiance in his eyes. "I didn't give it to the council. That's not how we work. I brought over my mates, my girl, we all drank it together. But not the leaders. Just beasts with somethin' to fight for."

Nallmian's smile turned down slightly. "All of it? You drunks consumed all of it, and not mania mouse or, or your local Skipper, or….well dammit! I worked hard on that plan! You can't just mess up important official projects like that! What do you think……" The stoat trailed off, then started smiling again. "You know what? I don't feel that angry over it. I mean, I did kill off a bunch of FL squirrels and trick a professional thief twice. I'm feeling pretty good today, Oakie. But I don't think you're going to."

Nallmian dropped to his knees, grabbed the front legs of the chair Oakshade sat on, and then stood up, flipping the chair and the squirrel onto their respective backs. Moving the chair around a bit, Nallmian checked the position of the mace and smiled, then leapt onto the table, grabbing up the knife he had been holding earlier. The stoat pulled his arm back, then suddenly paused.

"You know, I think I'm being selfish about this whole thing. I'm mad at you, true, but a good captain always thinks about his hordebeasts first." Nallmian hopped off the table and ran over to the door of the room, flinging it open and bursting into a room with several Red Ember soldiers of various vermin species sitting around playing with dice.

"Hey, anybody feel like killing a squirrel?" All activity in the room stopped. "Seriously, I've got one in the back room, needs killing. Anybody up for it?" A pause, as the hordebeasts considered this information, some of them seemingly unsure if this was a joke of some kind. Nallmian sighed.

"All right, you know the sneaker-in who put the poison in the food? That's the squirrel I'm talking about. Make. Him. Fishbait. Sound simple enough to you?" A shout went up from the vermin and they immediately rushed to crowd into the room, swords, hooks and knives coming out. "Just watch out for the mace!" Nallmian yelled after them. He chuckled. "I love my job." Nallmian was about to go watch the hordebeasts when suddenly a prim looking male fox came rushing in.

"Captain Nallmian? His Excellency Lord Whitefire requires your presence immediately."

"Oh?"

"Yes, apparently His Excellency has received some personal correspondence. If I heard correctly, it is a parcel from the professor who came to call on His Excellency during the a meeting at the western ports. I was with Lord Whitefire at the time, and this individual made quite an impression on him. Our Lord does so enjoy pleasant and erudite conversation. With creatures of solid mental stability." The fox glared pointedly at Nallmian.

The stoat nodded enthusiastically. "So do I, Gavk, so do I. The sane ones are always fun to talk to. But I'm not sure why Lord Whitefire would need one of his humble horde captains to help him read a letter. Did he forget the letter v, or the letter k, perhaps? As long as it wasn't a vowel…"

"Captain Nallmian, do you wish to waste my time further, or will you simply go and meet with his excellency now?"

The stoat suddenly shifted demeanor again, looking almost hurt at the fox's outburst. "Of course, of course, Sir Gavk. I'll go up right now. Sorry about breathing your air." The stoat walked off slowly, ears dropping, looking rather dejected. But then his ears perked back up and his smile returned. "And then I think I'll take a couple of horde beasts and find another captive! Then I'll feel better!" The stoat bounded up the stairs to the main hall, grinning widely.

As he approached Lord Whitefire's meeting room, Nallmian dropped the slightly silly smile on his face, straightened his uniform up a bit and quickly checked his reflection in a brightly polished decorative shield, putting on the captain's pendant he made a point of not wearing in the field so as not to make himself a target. Rapping on the door twice, he waited until he heard the sound of the bar on the other side being raised before opening it.

The wall of the room was dominated by a massive map of all of Lord Whitefire's territory, as well as those of surrounding rulers. They were of much better quality than those available locally, and from what Nallmian understood the cartographer who had drawn them had been like Lord Whitefire himself, a foreigner who had arrived as part of an expedition many seasons ago under Lord Whitefire's father. In the beginning, most of the officers and advisors had been from the same land as Whitefire, but over time more and more locals began to ascend in rank as foreigners died, for there had been very few females and no kits amongst them, and their numbers had dwindled without replacement. Nallmian had always suspected that the expedition had been intended as the first of several, but that for some unknowable reason the subsequent voyages had never arrived. It was a consensus amongst the captains that Whitefire could not possibly their lord's real name.

Nallmian put questions of origin aside as he walked past officers studying the charts to plan patrols or offensives, as well as officials of another type counting and discussing money. Walking to the back of the room, he found Lord Whitefire sitting at his desk, which Nallmian knew the practical foreigner preferred over the throne in the main hall. Nallmian stood at attention as he watched Whitefire. Lord Whitefire was an ermine, lean and somewhat harsh looking, dressed in what could have been the garb of a normal officer or tax collector had it not been accompanied by an ornately fashioned gold medallion. To either side of him stood two muscular foxes with armor and swords, alert eyes traveling throughout the room, searching for any threat to their master. The ermine was finishing a letter, writing both very quickly and very neatly. Looking up, the ermine nodded.

"Captain Nallmian, at ease." Whitefire's voice had only a very slight accent after having spent most of his life since late childhood in the land he now ruled over, although Nallmian had heard him adopt a much heavier accent when dealing with other warlords or visiting guests. On more than one occasion, these guests had seemed to mistake this as a sign of limited linguistic comprehension, causing them to be less guarded in their speech than would be normal.

The ermine finished the letter and looked up at Nallmian. "I understand that Gavk does not like you. He thinks that you're…insufficiently stable. But an unstable creature does not get results like yours. You have one of our best capture and interrogation rates for operations against the Freedom's Lances. Your company has a casualty rate considerably below what is normal. No, Captain Nallmian, I'm quite sure you're not crazy. A bit eccentric perhaps…"

"But sane as a sage. Very good, Lord Whitefire. A lot of creatures don't see past the song and dance. Of course, that's usually a good thing, my lord." Nallmian said, his demeanor far more serious than during the interrogation.

"I do. I may not be history's greatest conqueror, but I know business, and that means knowing creatures. Which brings me to why you're here. You may recall my absence some time ago to explore a trade pact with the port towns west of our territory?"

"I do, my lord."

"During my time in the town, I made the acquaintance of one Professor Falliss. He was a most learned beast, and an interesting social companion for my time there. Recently, I received a letter from the good professor, informing me that he had come into possession of…a certain item, and the knowledge of its use, which I had told him I very much wished to acquire. He has invited me to a reception at his residence to discuss the possibilities. Unfortunately, I have extremely pressing business here, a matter that cannot be delegated and cannot wait. That's why I am sending you in my place to discuss the issue at paw."

"With respect, my lord, am I the best captain for this task? I am good at hunting down, catching and interrogating woodland rebels, and at recruiting spies, I am not always very good at socializing outside the context of a woodlander rebellion, which I would guess is not what Professor Falliss wishes to discuss." Nallmian was slightly puzzled at the request, having never been a negotiator, a task that usually fell to a courtly ferret captain who was perhaps the only vermin in Whitefire's retinue that the Freedom's Lances wouldn't kill on sight.

"I understand that, Nallmian. However, the matter at hand may be more relevant to you than you think. Approach my desk, please." Whitefire beckoned to Nallmian, who approached and bent in close. Whitefire spoke several sentences very softly to Nallmian. The stoat leaned back out, nodding.

"Oh…well, yes, I suppose it does make sense, then. Of course, my lord, it will be as you say."

"This letter of introduction to the Professor will explain my absence. I've introduced you to him as a captain responsible for helping to maintain security amongst the troops and the fortress. The professor is, after all, more a scholar than a ruler, and although he surely has some understanding of the necessities of power, I am not at all confident that he would react well to the knowledge that much of your job involves either ripping information out of woodlanders or cajoling it out of them with coin." Whitefire signed and sealed the letter, and passed it across the desk to Nallmian.

"Your travel arrangements have already been made. In your quarters you will find additional information that I have compiled on Professor Falliss and his residence. I will ask that you describe your experiences in detail after your return. You leave tomorrow. Good luck, Captain."

"Thank you, my lord." Nallmian had wanted very badly to continue working that otter whose mate had apparently been stolen by a more important otter, or the mouse healer who felt ignored and disgruntled, or go out and capture that little foraging party and make them either scream or sing. But that would have to wait. Besides, even sabotaging woodlander rebellions would never suffer for some variety. Maybe a working holiday was just what Nallmian needed. Certainly, it had the potential to be interesting. Nallmian had always liked variety.


	4. I Don't Love You

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 2. I Don't Love You**

_by Desmond_

_Dear Sir:_

I regret that we have not met, but I'm afraid I've only recently taken up residence in this area, and I have been unable to attend any social gatherings, due to persistent ill health. However, to remedy this problem, I would be honored if you would join me and my charming young niece, Helena, for dinner.

I realize that the distance between our residences is considerable, so I invite you to stay the night at my castle. Every comfort will be met. Helena is greatly looking forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,

Professor Faliss

Desmond read the letter twice and smiled thoughtfully. Meeting a decrepit old beast was not exactly thrilling, but "charming young nieces" were right up the squirrel's alley. He could remember two or three charming young nieces he'd met in the past, and they had all been thoroughly worth any obstacles. A long journey to an isolated castle was no exception.

Sacrifices, after all, had to be made.

The squirrel snapped upright, his train of thought interrupted as the door to his study was opened and his butler slunk in, bearing a tray of tea and a small bundle of letters.

"Morning, sir," he muttered.

Desmond frowned in disgust as the mouse winced at the bright light from the study windows. "Willikins," he said sharply, "I believe I've told you before to correct your little drinking problem. You're absolutely useless when you're hung over."

"Sorry, sir," said the butler doggedly. "Fellow bought me a drink, so I had to buy him a drink, and I lost count somewhere after the fifth glass." He moved unsteadily across the room and set the tea and the letters on Desmond's desk, stopping abruptly when he caught sight of the paper in the squirrel's paw. "Oh," he said.

"Yes?" Desmond queried, pouring himself a cup of tea and adding three spoonfuls of sugar.

"Er. That fellow. He gave me a letter for you last night, told me to put it on your desk. I, er… guess I did." He shrugged.

Desmond smiled. "Yes," he said casually. "About that. I'll be going out of town for a day."

Willikins didn't seem to hear him. "There's another thing," he said. "That girl you've been courting. Estella. She was found dead this morning."

Desmond shuddered. Estella. She'd haunted him all night, dancing in and out of his dreams, murmuring accusations in his ears. _It wasn't my fault,_ he thought stubbornly. He turned his eyes to Willikins, gaze full of what he hoped passed for shock. "_Dead_?"

"Quite, sir. Strangled, by the looks of it."

Desmond shook his head slowly. "Who would do such a thing?" His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Willikins shrugged. "Don't know, sir." He paused awkwardly. "I'm, er, sorry for your loss."

"Yes," Desmond murmured, staring at nothing. "I had… I had hoped to marry her." He shook his head and muttered, "I will find the wretched murderer and have him hanged for this." He downed his tea in one gulp and set the cup down hard.

"Quite," said Willikins and ventured timidly, "Might I have the day off, sir?"

"What? Of course not!" Desmond snapped. "I need you to set up the investigation for me. As I mentioned, I have to leave town – urgent business. I'm afraid I can't put it off." He shoved the thought of Estella to the back of his mind; he needed to leave, to get away from the scene of crime. The invitation was a perfect excuse.

_And after all_, he mused, smirking inwardly, _It would be rude to make darling Helena wait._

*

She would have to wait, though, at least for a few hours. Being the rich, influential beast that he was, Desmond couldn't so much as sneeze without offending at least five beasts in the process, and leaving town without so much as a "By your leave" would cause a very unpleasant stir. Most of his errands were carried out shortly, though, until only one thing remained – visiting Estella's father.

Desmond knocked on the door of the old squirrel's house, tugging at his waistcoat and fidgeting with his sleeves while he waited for somebeast to answer the door. The house was unusually quiet, bereft of the normal childish cries of Estella's two younger siblings. Desmond had heard that their father had sent them away to an aunt's home that morning. Not that he blamed the beast; the two children had hardly been tolerable when they were happy. He couldn't imagine what nuisances they would be when they were terrified and miserable.

Desmond started as the door creaked open, revealing the weathered face of Estella's father. Desmond stared into the old squirrels eyes for a moment, stunned at the depth of emotion therein, and then dropped his gaze, unable to meet the other beast's eyes any longer.

"I came to offer my sympathy," he murmured.

"Of course," Arthur stepped back, opening the door wide enough for Desmond to enter. The younger squirrel did so hesitantly, footpaws dragging over the threshold. The first thing his gaze fell upon when he entered was the coffin, resting on a low table. He felt himself drawn to its side, unwillingly forced to look at her face.

Desmond shivered. The expression of fear was frozen onto her features; death had brought no peace to her. Her neck was covered in ugly bruises. No attempt had been made to make her presentable – she wore the same dressing gown she'd had on the night before.

Desmond stepped back, looked away. She was disgusting.

"My condolences," he said, his voice ice cold.

He didn't wait for a reply. He didn't wait for Arthur to let him out. Without another word, he strode to the door and left the old squirrel to mourn his daughter in his silent house.

*

It began to snow on his way to the castle. Desmond panted heavily under the weight from the pack on his back, carrying a change of clothing and a few necessary articles. As the time passed, he stopped more frequently to rest, and the rests became longer. At long last, he saw a misty shape before him that resolved as he came closer. It wasn't a cheery castle. In fact, it wasn't the kind of castle that most beasts want to live in. Outwardly, it was completely silent, still, uninhabited. After a closer look, though, he discovered a sign of life; a male squirrel stood just inside the entrance – waiting for him, apparently.

Desmond stopped just in front of the other squirrel.

"I was invited by Professor Faliss," he explained, because the squirrel, with his dead expression, made him feel like he needed to explain his presence.

"Of course," said the squirrel. His face didn't change. "Come in, Desmond."

Desmond stared at him. "You know my name," he said, surprised.

The squirrel didn't smile. "Yes," he said simply, and resumed where he had left off. "I'll show you to your room."

Desmond hesitated, and then followed the other squirrel into the castle.

He just hoped that Helena was _really_ gorgeous.


	5. The Doctor Is In

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.**

* * *

**

**Chapter 3. The Doctor Is In**

_by Biara_

Biara really didn't like woodlanders. Really.

That thought flitted through her head for about the twenty second time that evening as she tried to drown out the bothersome nagging of a mousewife hovering around like a bloodthirsty mosquito. _No. Bad mental image._ The marten rubbed errantly at the scar on her nose and tried very hard not to imagine just how delightfully the mouse's delicate skull would crack and give way and then the blood—

"Miss Sable? If you are quite through examining my head…"

Biara blinked. "Oh right, of course." The marten tried to clear her mind. Such thoughts weren't exactly conducive to healing, it seemed.

Instead, she turned back to the job at paw, which as the fates would have it, happened to be a paw. Old Ariana Pascal's son had suffered a broken bone and Biara had been called, rather urgently, to fix it. The process had gone splendidly, and as the marten finished wrapping up the bandage she had to feel a flash of admiration for the dibbun. She didn't have to imagine how painful the injury was, and yet the little mouse sat in stoic silence, his face void of fear. No tears, no whining, no curses—Biara thought that she could get used to woodlanders if more of them were like this little one.

"Oh, do be careful! Look now, you're being much too rough! It still looks swollen. What if it heals wrong? He needs that paw, you know!"

_Never mind._ The marten stifled a sharp retort. The mother had been like that the entire time, and even as Biara was looking through her medicine pouch for some comfrey, she could still see the mousewife limping about out of the corner of her eye. Terribly distracting. And furthermore—

Biara stopped immediately. Limping?

"What is that you're getting? How do I know that's safe? What if my poor son is allergic to it and drops dead tomorrow morning? And—yes?" Ariana trailed off awkwardly as she realized that the pine marten healer was staring at her intently. The mouse shifted uncomfortably, "What is it?"

"Miss Pascal, you're limping." Biara calmly stated.

"Oh, well," The mouse stuttered, "it's nothing that you should concern yourself with, really."

Biara waved off the excuse. "Nonsense!" she scoffed, "I couldn't leave knowing that a good beast is suffering. Now, let's have a look at that footpaw."

Reluctantly, the old mouse lowered herself into her armchair and gingerly stretched out her leg. Biara knelt down and took Ariana's footpaw, ignoring the smaller beast's grunt of pain as she searched for any injuries. The marteness looked up with a smile that crossed her face from ear to ear. "Why, Miss Pascal, this is truly fascinating. You have managed to get the biggest thorn I have ever seen embedded in your footpaw!" She went back to examining the injury. "It looks quite swollen, too, very painful indeed. How ever did you manage to cope with it for such a long time? Quite impressive."

"N-nonsense, it isn't as bad as all that, really," the mouse squeaked, trying to shake the enthusiastic marten off, "I was going to get it out myself when my son got hurt and then I was much too busy with that. But I needn't keep you here longer than necessary, really. I'm sure you have more appointments and—"

But the martin was already digging industriously through her medicine pouch, looking positively elated. "Not at all! The sooner we get that beastie out the better. You wouldn't want that to get infected, would you? Just imagine how excruciating that would be! Now where did I put that…? I was just using it before and—Aha!"

The tall marten cackled triumphantly as she whipped out a keen-edged scalpel, "Don't think you can get away so easily this time!" Looking away from the blade, she noticed that both mice were staring at her. "Er, yes, I um…" Biara cleared her throat noisily and lowered the instrument. "It hides itself quite well in there, you see. Now, please hold still, miss, and we'll have that thorn out before you can say 'ouch!'"

- - -

Biara really, _really_ didn't like woodlanders.

The tall healer snorted, gingerly poking at the claw marks on her arm. She would have to get that cleaned immediately. _Stupid mice._ What was it with beasts and not being able to keep their paws to themselves?

The marten trudged along the well-worn brick path to her own house in high bad humor, grumbling aloud. It wasn't her fault, that was for sure. If she hadn't removed that thorn immediately, the mouse would have never had it out, judging by the sheer amount of screaming and pleading for such an easy procedure. And then, like the brute she was, the little rodent had to attack. Biara didn't understand it at all. She supposed that this town was just filled with maniacs. _And they call us the violent ones._

The old mousewife had lived at the outskirts of the little village where Biara had chosen to make her home, and so by the time the healer made it back to her own abode, the sky was already starting to rust with the setting sun. She pulled her cloak tightly against her broad shoulders and twisted her face away from an unusually forceful gust of wind. As the days progressed into winter, the amount of daylight was beginning to diminish as darkness crept over the sky earlier and earlier. It had yet to snow, but Biara knew it would come sooner rather than later. It wasn't exactly a thought that made her feel any better.

Rummaging through the pockets of her cloak, the marten sniffed at its paltry contents: a few measly coins, a sugar cube, a needle, and a bloody thorn. She admired the thorn a little closer and smiled, turning it over in her paw. It was an absolute monster. She had offered it to the mousewife as a souvenir, but it wasn't as if she deserved such a fascinating specimen, even if she had accepted it. Biara shook her head and pocketed the thorn once more. It was in the past now and the only thing to do was walk in through the open door to her house and then forget all about—

Why was the door open?

Pressing silently against the door, Biara listened intently and could hear the quiet patter of paws accompanied by the clatter of silverware. The marten sunk her claws into the wood. _By the claw! As if the day couldn't get any worse!_ She rummaged through her medicine pouch and retrieved the bloodied scalpel, eyes narrowing. Biara Sable was not going to let some brutish thugs ruin the rest of her day. She glanced at the stained blade and a smile crept over her features. This was all the marten needed, really. Yes, she'd sworn to keep it at bay, but these creatures deserved it and she was going to make them scream.

The marteness slipped through the open door with scarce a sound and crept through the hallway toward the source of the noises. Just outside the kitchen, she could hear distinct voices, but at that point the need was so strong that she couldn't concentrate on anything else. Brandishing her makeshift weapon, she burst into the room, eyes slit and teeth bared.

The vixen and ferret jumped with surprise, but soon regained their composures as Biara stopped when she realized the uniformed intruders were just seated calmly at her kitchen table with a teapot between them. "Good evening," she mumbled, raising a puzzled eyebrow. "I see you've made yourselves at home."

After taking a long sip from a pilfered teacup, the vixen finally responded. "Yes we have, although I have to say that your selection of tea is quite deplorable and—owch!"

She shot a glare towards the ferret who had directed a not-too-friendly kick to her companion's shins underneath the table. The ferret rolled her eyes. "Deneb, can't you show a little more respect towards our benevolent hostess?" She nodded courteously towards Biara. "Please excuse her, madam, it's not her fault that she's a spoilt brat, bless her heart." Deneb grumbled under her breath as the ferret helped herself to more tea. "This is quite good, actually."

Biara leaned against a cupboard, playing idly with her knife and smiling genially. "You don't say? I rather think so too, which is why I'm thinking of chopping the two of you to pieces unless you give me a very good reason of why you're here indulging in it."

"Ah, yes of course." The ferret replied quickly, edging away ever so slightly from the angry marten. "We are, Miss Sable, representatives from the Imperial Guild of Healers, Artificers and Apothecarists, from Mossflower Country and beyond! I am Rinat and this is Deneb, and we—"

The tall marten blinked. She took a step forward and jabbed the small blade towards the ferret. "You know my name?"

"Why, of course," the smaller mustelid replied with a silent sigh of relief, "we have heard all sorts of things about you. Very good things, of course," she added hastily, as Biara's knife paw twitched. "Word of your skill and prowess with the healing arts has been spreading very rapidly and the guild is very interested in a beast of your caliber."

"Oh." Biara's puzzled expression changed to glee in the blink of an eye. "Oh! How wonderful! I hadn't thought this would happen so soon." The healer straddled the chair between the other two beasts, twirling her scalpel and winking at the ferret. "Go on, friend! I'm sorry if I gave you a fright. I meant nothing by it, really, just a little joke I sometimes play on my patients."

Deneb glanced over the fresh crimson spatters on Biara's cream tunic. "I can see that." She grunted as her companion's footpaw connected with her shin.

"You haven't been living in this village for terribly long, have you? I heard you took over as resident healer just recently." Rinat asked, changing the subject fluidly as she poured Biara some tea. The marteness nodded solemnly in response, taking a sip from her own cup before responding.

"Aye, I was here not even a season when poor Alastor passed on." The marten's ears drooped just a bit and she swirled the liquid in her mug listlessly, gazing down at her own warped reflection. "I can only hope that I honor his memory sufficiently. I've been working even harder to make sure the beasts of the town are in good health."

"Yes, we've heard all about that," the ferret replied smoothly, patting Biara's paw gently. The marten's jaw clenched. "It's quite a shame that Alastor had to die so suddenly. He was quite a renowned medic, as I'm sure you know, with one of the largest collections of literature related to the healing arts. But you have already done such an excellent job of making a unique name for yourself in such a short time—"

The vixen opened her mouth to say something, but caught Rinat's glance and turned her comment into a cough.

"… and we are convinced that your talents would be perfect for a special, secret mission."

Biara's melancholy turned to curiosity and she angled her ears forward. "A secret mission? What exactly do you mean by that?"

The two intruders exchanged glances. Deneb quickly removed a primly rolled parchment from her pocket which she handed to her partner. The ferret began undoing the elaborate ribbon tying the parchment, "Tell me, have you ever heard of a certain Professor Falliss?"

Biara ran her paw up and down the flat of the scalpel as she thought the question over. "You mean that strange old hermit with a creepy castle to the north? Aye, I've heard of him, sure enough, and if the rumors are to be believed, than the bloke must be dafter than a drunken toad. What about him, is he sick?"

"No, not quite," Rinat answered, "but close. The Professor contacted us to request one of our healers to travel to his castle and take care of one of his servants."

"Excuse my asking," Biara interjected, raising an eyebrow, "but in that case what does this have to do with me? I'm not actually part of your guild, remember?"

"Of course we know that," the vixen cut in. "After all, you've only been working for a short time as a nurse and—"

"I am not a nurse." Biara's voice was level, but there was a snarl barely concealed beneath her creamy throat fur and she leaned forward and buried her blade deep into the wood of the table top. "I am a medic, Miss Deneb, and if I were you, I would do well to remember that."

Wincing, the ferret appealed to Biara. "She meant nothing by it, madam. If you'll allow me to explain, please…"

There was a prolonged moment of apprehensive silence, and then finally Biara relaxed, claws sliding back into her pads. Rinat breathed another silent sigh of relief. The tall marten slouched moodily, resting her chin in her paws on the head of the chair, but nodded to the ferret to continue.

Rinat dipped her head respectfully before continuing. "You must have heard of how very secretive the good Professor is, correct? He has never been seen leaving his castle. In fact, the only beasts who regularly go in and out are his servants. If a well-known healer of our guild were to make the trip, then surely somebeast would notice and, suffice to say, it would bring unnecessary and unwanted attention to the Professor." She smiled at Biara, who although still a little ruffled, held more curiosity in her gaze than anger. "That is where you come in, friend. As an up-and-coming medic, you can go about your work and nobeast will be the wiser." Rinat shrugged, "It's as simple as that, really."

Biara's tail flitted back and forth. "Where is the Professor's castle, anyway? From what I've heard it's a fair distance from this village, and to the north. And winter is well on its way; I'm not very partial to the cold." The marteness tapped the chair top with a claw. "What I'm trying to say is why should I subject myself to danger to help you, how can I trust you, and what's in it for me?"

"A reasonable point," Rinat responded, handing the parchment over to Biara. "This is the letter from the Professor himself. And let me tell you right now that it will be made worth your while. The Professor has personally assured a reward of five bags of gold for your services and the guild will pay you handsomely for any difficulties you face on the journey upon your return.

Biara unrolled the parchment hastily, pawing at her scar as her eyes flashed over the neat script. Noticing that the marten still looked somewhat indecisive, Rinat continued, "And I should tell you that the Professor has more than just gold in his disposal. I've heard that he has a vast cellar filled with the most sought after brews on the market. Damson wine, greengage cordial, October ale—"

"Okay," Biara said, quickly. "I'll go." She straightened her posture, adjusting her cloak. "I should leave as soon as possible, in fact."

The ferret beamed. "Excellent! Now, a few things before you get on your way…"

- - -

Biara's tail swished listlessly as she examined the trappings of her new room.

As dismal and desolate as the castle had looked when she was standing outside in the driving snow, the marteness was impressed by how neat and orderly the interior was. The mirror was pristine, devoid of any smudges, cracks or blemishes, as were the wardrobe and desk. There had been no mold taking the hallways hostage, and to the marten's delight, no spiders. Her eyes flashed to a corner; _yet._

The healer snuggled herself back into the downy blankets on top of her bed and sighed. This wasn't bad at all. That and the promise of a handsome reward were worth the miserable trek in the cold and wind. She cracked an eye open; there was still something missing. Jumping to her footpaws, the marten swept out the door. A drop of warmed rum and life would be perfect.

Scanning the hallway up and down, Biara noticed a well-dressed squirrel standing in front of the room directly across from hers'. _Probably a servant._ After all, the beast who had led Biara into the castle and to her room had been a squirrel as well. _Maybe all the servants were woodlanders? Huh, it's all they're good for anyway._ At least that squirrel had been courteous, if not a little dull.

Approaching the squirrel, Biara cleared her throat. Perhaps this was the sick one? He did look a slightly weary and unwell. And if not, then at least he'd know his way around the castle. "Pardon me, sir, but are you feeling alright?"


	6. Halfway Through The Wood

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 4. Halfway Through The Wood  
**

_by Rhea_

And at the ford, she was supposed to turn south, whichever way that was. Right. Right?

The trees of Mossflower Wood shivered in the cold north wind, their cowardly yellow leaves having long since been buried underneath the snow. But even the naked trees were lucky compared to the one that itself had fallen, or, perhaps, been felled by resourceful woodlanders. In either case, it spanned the frigid river, which acquiescingly flew underneath.

Though she didn't admit it to herself, Rhea had chosen Redwall Abbey as her destination only because she didn't know anywhere else to go. At the rate she was going, she would have considered herself lucky to make it to the Abbey without backtracking. The supplies she had been lucky to commandeer from the ferociously stingy kitchen hares were thinning out, and she didn't care to speculate on her odds of finding food in the forest.

Rhea was confident that she could have drawn the way to Redwall on a map, but the only legends in the real world were not the kind used for navigation. She had kept the river at her left paw all the way to the ford, and hadn't remembered having to cross anything. Which meant she would just take the path to her right. Didn't it?

As she tried to reason her way through it, she heard the quiet footsteps of a forlorn mouse approaching from the north. The wind was at his back, but he seemed at its mercy. With his head tilted downwards, his eyes, though unfocused, could see only the leaves and not, among other things, the river.

"Watch out!" Rhea called.

The mouse snapped to attention, jerking his head upwards and turning it every which way to seek the voice of warning. It took him several moments to notice her loitering across the ford.

"Y-you're not Rhea," he stammered, "Are you?"

Somewhat taken aback, but attempting to hide it, she responded, "That's my name."

He regarded her skeptically. She was small for a grown badger, appeared unarmed, and wore an elegant cloak of deep violet with fringes of gold. It would not have been most beasts' first choice for a winter trek. "Oh," he said with evident disappointment.

On the defensive, she asked, "Who are you?" before moderating her voice and adding, "And why are you looking for me?"

"M'name's Joshua," he glumly replied. "I'm from the..." He glanced around the forest, but only insects could have eavesdropped on him. Nevertheless furtive, he whispered, "The resistance."

"The resistance?" said Rhea, her volume carelessly normal. "Against what?"

"Nidea."

"I've never heard of her."

"You're a luckier beast than me. Nidea's a _him_, actually. A wolf."

"Why are you resisting him?"

"He's a slavemaster." Joshua's jaw was steeled with fury, yet his cold demeanor quickly melted into uncontrolled emotion. "His troops seize creatures to make them work for him. They took my daughter—" He halted, unable to continue.

Rhea respectfully looked downward for what seemed an appropriate interval. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"A-anyhow," he went on, "I'm s'posed to find Rhea, who I guess is you. Ludae--she's our leader, see--said she'd heard of you, that maybe you could help, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, you just don't look like a good fighter. I mean," he added in a rush, seeing indignance take hold of her face, "We'll take any help we can get--"

"I can fight!" Rhea impetuously interrupted. "I've got a sling, here..."

Hastily extricating a brown knapsack from her shoulders, she ruffled through it without regard for where anything was going. A roll she had packed flew out behind her, her canteen tipped over (though fortunately remained closed), but the sling was at last removed from the bottom of the bag. As she yanked it out, however, pebbles followed, rolling down the path and into the river.

A decidedly unimpressed Joshua made an effort to restrain from sarcasm as he said, "All right, then."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I guess just come back to the old palace. We're using it as a base."

"Where is it?"

"You go up this path until the trees thin out, then turn east..."

Too proud to ask which way east was, Rhea tried to absorb as much of his directions as he could. "Could you repeat that once more? Just to make sure I've got it."

The mouse sighed. "Till you're out of the woods, it doesn't matter whether what you can echo back. I'll walk with you...if you're coming, that is."

Rhea glanced southward, where Redwall might have been. Her roll had rolled to a stop in the snow.

Leaving it there, she approached the makeshift bridge. "Can it hold you?" Joshua dubiously called.

"I think so." She took a tentative step onto it, extending her paws outwards to balance herself. One gripped the sack, the other the sling.

Rhea's small size served her well as she cautiously crossed, eyes fixated outwards. Disembarking was more difficult, but she managed to clamber off. Snow scattered when she landed on the other bank of the river, and she continued kicking at a mound to reveal what should have been an unsurprising abundance of stones underneath. Delighted, she scooped a small pawful into her sack and set her sling on top as Joshua controlled his amusement.

He set a brisk pace, and Rhea followed close behind after putting the knapsack back on. The original path was snowed over, but they simply walked where the trees were not. Both had trooped through the forest long enough to pass uneventful hours without needing to rest.

When Joshua did pause, he walked over to a short oak tree and inspected the trunk. It had been marked with a dagger slash. The mouse squinted at his shadow. "We're making good time," he declared.

"How far away is the palace?"

"Several days yet. You can sleep outside, can't you?"

"Of course I can," she testily replied.

"That's good," he said. "How much food do you have?"

"Several more days' worth," she said with false confidence.

"Give me the bag and let me see."

"Why should I?" She instinctively clenched her shoulders.

"Because I know how to survive in this sort of place, and you don't."

"I made it this far."

"Indeed you did. What are you doing so far from your fire mountain?"

"Right now, I'm going to help you and your resistance. So it might be a good idea to keep me on your good side."

"I am going to eat. You would be best off doing so too," Joshua declared, and darted into the forest.

Rhea took off her knapsack and opened it up. She did not reach for the half-eaten fish, however, but rather her sling. Loading it with one of the pebbles she had taken from the riverbank, she followed the pawprints in the snow.

Joshua was coolly munching on some sort of plant that she didn't recognize, and seemed startled at her furious approach. But he quickly shelved his surprise to speak with authority. "You'll regret not eating."

"You'll regret leading me out here just to abandon me!" she raged.

The mouse laughed. "You have your food and I have mine. Follow me around if you want, doesn't make a difference as long as we both arrive in one piece."

Fuming, Rhea returned to the path, preferring to stand motionless than to accept the mouse's command. Joshua joined her some time later, stretching as if satisfied.

"Right, if we're lucky we'll make the next tree before nightfall."

"Next tree? We're surrounded by them."

"The next tree I've marked, so outlanders like you don't lose your way." Joshua didn't make eye contact with her as he started out.

They did not make the next tree. Rhea's hunger slowed her down as night fell, and, against her protests, Joshua decreed they would stop for the night.

She had woken early every night since leaving Salamandastron, never truly adjusting to the outdoors, and the following morning was no exception. Despite craving to go back to sleep, Rhea sensed the opportunity to seize control of the situation. The first order of business, however, was to eat. She gulped down a hard biscuit like she would have a steaming pie, down to the crumbs in her face that she shamelessly wiped off only to cram into her mouth once again.

The mouse woke after she'd finished. "Good morning," she said with an artificial smile. "I think it would be a good idea to eat before we start, don't you? Saves us another rest later on."

Somewhat taken aback, Joshua reluctantly consented. Rhea followed him into the woods, where he kicked up snow and leaves alike before kneeling down to gather grass blades underneath. Somewhat ashamed of her supply of food, but unwilling to share, she retreated back to the path.

Joshua joined her shortly thereafter and led them forward confidently. "You'll eat worse than that if you fight with us."

But it was Rhea who called for a lunch break, and a supper one after that. They were earlier than she felt hungry, but the chance to dictate the schedule was worth the long evening marches on increasingly empty stomachs. Joshua chose when to stop for the night, and navigated by the slashes in trees and cairns he had placed earlier. The uneasy compromise continued all the way to the foothills of the northern mountains.

Almost as soon as Rhea glimpsed the foreboding fortress, she noticed two hares emerging from elsewhere in Mossflower. As their paths converged, Rhea recognized one of them without remembering where she'd seen her. Salamandastron, presumably, but...

A second glance, and she remembered her stop in the kitchen. Had that hare been watching her? Suddenly apprehensive, she broke into a run for the final paces to the palace gates, accelerating at the sound of footpaws following her. But it was not the hare she recognized that met her at the gates. Instead, her companion had bounded ahead.

"Lady Rhea," he called, "Wait up!"

She immediately froze, swiveling towards him. "Hello?"

"Lady Rhea, it's...er..." He paused for a moment, and then soldiered on. "It's Quincy Tulep, from Salamandastron."

Rhea could not have imagined a less useful ally in any rebellion. "_The_ Quincy Tulep?"

He sighed. "Yes. That's me."

"I, um, didn't expect to meet you here."

"I didn't really expect to meet you here either, Miss Rhea."

Joshua had continued at his dogged pace, and Rhea continued trying to make polite conversation. "Quincy, this is Joshua; Joshua, Quincy Tulep."

"Hello there, Joshua."

Joshua gave his first smile that Rhea had seen. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The badger noticed the approach of the other hare. "It's, ah, nice to see you again, Quincy. But it's been a cold journey. I assume we can go inside?

"Yes," Joshua somberly intoned.

She stepped onto the sturdy drawbridge, freezing for only the shortest of moments before momentum carried her across.


	7. Hey Man, Nice Shot!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 5. Hey Man, Nice Shot!  
**

_by Sootpaws_

"Of all the blithering idiots! I should have you fed to the bloody pike!"

Sootpaws dodged the inkwell the Captain had flung in the direction of his head. Honestly, he couldn't see what all the fuss was about. So the Treasury had been robbed? What did they expect him to have done, what with the rodent claiming to have been sent to fix the lock? He'd have only been in trouble if he'd stopped the creature going about his duties. Sadly, it seemed the Captain didn't share his views.

"Have you any idea of the trouble you've caused?" Sootpaws noticed that the Captain's left eye was twitching. He'd never seen that before.

"Well, I don't see..." he began.

"Shut up!" roared the Captain. "It was a bleedin' rhetorical question!"

"Oh." Sootpaws had a brief try at figuring out what 'rhetorical' meant. "It's just..."

He was cut off as the Captain's paperweight flew past his right ear. The heavy stone bounced off the door and crashed to the floor, toppling the bin and sending scraps of paper flying across the room.

The Captain was seething with rage. "Of all the useless, incompetent, good for nothing, lazy excuses for a soldier I've ever had the misfortune to encounter, you are by far the greatest of all!"

Sootpaws, who had missed most of the Captain's rant by concentrating on the scattered paper, grinned. "Thanks very much sir, it's good that you're so understanding."

The stream of curses that drifted through the office door was enough to make even the guards blush.

Sootpaws was finally stunned into silence. He'd never seen the Captain this angry before, and he'd been hauled before him more times than he cared to remember. There was a moment's silence while the Captain regained his composure.

"Well soldier, what shall we do with you this time? I think we've just about exhausted all the usual punishments, none of those seemed to have had any noticeable effect."

Sootpaws shifted uncomfortably from one footpaw to the other, but decided against offering a suggestion of his own. The only things left on the Captain's desk were either heavy or sharp, and he didn't fancy having to dodge another missile.

A cold grin was forming on the Captain's face. "As it happens, there is one assignment I think even you can handle. We recently received an invitation for one of our officers to attend a gathering held by one 'Professor Falliss'. It's a good week's march from here, and the country is notorious for bandits. I want you to accompany him to this Professor's castle. Make sure he gets there safely. He'll meet you at the gatehouse in half an hour. Now get out of my sight."

Thankful for the Captain's sudden change of heart, Sootpaws made a swift exit from the office. Half an hour would give him enough time for a quick nap before meeting this officer he was supposed to escort.

The door had barely closed behind the fox when a side door in the Captain's office opened and another fox in officer's uniform appeared. "You're sending me with _that_? he asked, incredulously.

The Captain's fist clenched around the piece of paper bearing the Professor's invitation, crushing it into a ball. "Just make sure he doesn't come back," he growled, left eye beginning to twitch again.

~

The bitter wind was howling through the trees, dark clouds were racing overhead. It might even snow soon. Sootpaws muttered to himself as he scrabbled around in the undergrowth, grabbing anything that seemed edible. If only that Quartermaster had spoken a bit more clearly when he'd given them their packs, then he probably wouldn't have eaten three day's worth of supplies during the first night. It didn't help that Captain Javik was totally lacking any sense of humour, liked waking up early and didn't consider Elevenses a reason to stop and eat.

The pair of foxes were barely a day's march from the Professor's castle, according to their map, although Sootpaws's tendency to sleep in meant they had not made as good time as they might have. By the time he arrived back at the makeshift camp, Javik had finally managed to get a fire going and was sat huddled in his thick cloak for warmth.

"Well? Did you find anything?" he asked, without much enthusiasm.

Sootpaws produced the fruits of his foraging. "Yes sir, Captain Javik, sir! Few berries, some nuts. Quite a lot of nuts actually, found something of a horde of those!"

Captain Javik sniffed. "Sootpaws, how do you expect me to eat this pathetic collection of squirrel leftovers? Wasn't there anything else?"

Sootpaws thought about it for a while. "Not really sir," he decided. "Unless you'd rather I dig up some roots? Or maybe I could coax out some worms!"

Javik shuddered. "Urgh, don't you dare! I'd rather go hungry, and because of your little midnight feast, that's exactly what I shall be doing! Some escort you are."

Muttering curses to himself, Javik crawled into the rickety tent he had slung between two trees. Soon they would be at the castle, and he would finally be able to get rid of this useless soldier once and for all!

Sootpaws shrugged and popped one of the berries into his mouth. It tasted foul. The fox jumped to his feet, berries and nuts scattering into the fire as he tried to get the revolting thing out of his mouth.

"Blech! Disgusting!"

Despondently, Sootpaws crawled into his own tent. No doubt ol' Javik would report back that he'd been a bad escort, and then there would be nothing between him and that pike. Well, they weren't going to make him into fish food! Sootpaws curled up under his cloak and drifted off to sleep, spending his dreams being chased by the Captain, who was armed with a large and angry fish.

Pale, early morning light was glowing through the sides of the tent when Sootpaws awoke. The fox blinked, trying to work out what had woken him so early. After a few minutes, he heard voices.

"So, vermin! Explain yourself! Our winter stores raided, and you camped just minutes away? Hardly a coincidence is it?"

Sootpaws slowly poked his head out of the tent. Javik stood surrounded by three angry looking squirrels, each with a weapon trained on him. One was armed with a bow, the other two with dangerous looking short swords.

Scrabbling around in the mess that littered the floor of his tent, Sootpaws managed to fish out the crossbow he'd been issued with before the pair had left on this trek. Quietly, he slid a bolt into place and slowly began winding the mechanism. He could almost hear Javik's voice, _Saved me from a whole band of marauding woodlanders, he did! Give him a raise, promote him! Sootpaws saved the day!_

With a click, the crossbow was ready to shoot. Leaning slowly out of the tent again, Sootpaws aimed the weapon in the direction of the squirrel archer. The three woodlanders hadn't seen him yet. Carefully, Sootpaws pressed the trigger...

Nothing happened. Looking puzzled, Sootpaws tried again. Again, nothing. He noticed Javik staring wide eyed in his direction. Glancing down at the weapon, he fiddled with some of the catches.

There was a loud crack as the crossbow released its bolt. One of the squirrels shouted an alarm, and the woodlanders melted away into the trees.

Captain Javik sank to his knees, a thick black bolt sticking out of the side of his head.

"Oh, Hellgates."

Sootpaws hurried across to the body. Javik was definitely dead. Despite Sootpaws poking him hard in the ribs, the officer didn't move.

The fox went into a panic. What was he going to do? He'd just killed the officer he was supposed to be escorting! Javik was expected at this Professor's castle. If he never showed up then word was bound to get back to the Captain!

There was only one thing for it. Searching through the dead officer's pockets, Sootpaws found the invitation. Stuffing it into one of his own pockets, the fox struck out in the direction of the castle.

Late that afternoon, he finally arrived. The castle was certainly impressive, looking like it had sprung up between the two crags. It would be almost impossible to take it by force, maybe that was why the Professor liked it.

Sootpaws wandered towards the drawbridge, where he was met by a mouse and a ferret, both armed with spears. The mouse held out a paw, signaling the fox to stop. "Do you have an invitation?" he asked, his voice dull and almost mechanical.

"Err, yes. I've got one in here somewhere..." Sootpaws rummaged through his pockets before pulling out the crumpled sheet of paper and handing it to the mouse. The rodent glanced at it, then looked back up at Sootpaws.

"What was your name?" he asked in his soft, monotonous voice.

"They call me Sootpaws," grinned the fox.

The mouse looked down at the invitation again. "Says 'Captain Javik' on here."

Sootpaws laughed nervously. "Err... Sootpaws is me nickname," he blurted quickly, before putting on his best impression of the Captain. "And I'll thank you to call me it!"

The mouse and the ferret exchanged glances, before the mouse handed the invitation back to Sootpaws. "Alright, you are free to enter," he droned. "The Professor is waiting for you inside."

Sootpaws practically danced across the drawbridge. He'd show that Captain! How was that for cunning? He was inside! Sootpaws would save the day after all!


	8. Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 6. ****Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying**

_by Quincy_

"Well frankly I just don't understand it, laddie," the Sergeant had said.

"What's not to understand, Sarge? I don't want to fight anymore."

Quincy had stood there, one oversized footpaw scuffing awkwardly at the dust as his eyes avoided the bewildered look on his superior's face. The hare remembered how the veteran had gotten up from his desk and strolled to an arrow slit that served as a window, scratching his head and blowing a sigh through his scrubby whiskers.

"You just had so much potential, Tulep. This is a, er, well, it's just a rather unusual situation we've got here, now isn't it?"

"Why's it so unusual?"

The Sergeant had turned his head slowly, his eyes scrutinizing every bit of Quincy's body, as though looking for some sign of illness or mental instability. "Why's it so unusual? In all my years, I've never seen a hare with such potential, such raw ability want to waste it all! Come to think of it, I've not seen many hares _without_ potential want to give up. Why, when Lord Morramel and Lady Rhea catch word of this..."

Part of Quincy wished he had never told the Sergeant of his intentions. While it merely started with the Sergeant's flabbergasted tirade, things went sharply downhill from there. There were the questions about his discarded saber, the inevitable punishment that followed (a month of scrubbing the floors in the barracks), but worst of all, the hares Quincy had gotten along with best now tended to find excuses not to spend any time with him.

So the young hare stood by on the last day of his punishment, a grimy rag in one paw and a bucket in the other as hare after hare filed by him on their way to the armory to stock up. Many of them smirked as they passed, some didn't bother lowering their voices as they made such comments as, "Well, _somebeast's_ got to keep the bally mountain safe!"

It had been tough going recently; more searats had laid siege to Salamandastron and supplies were beginning to dwindle. Lord Morramel seemed to have had enough and had ordered an all out assault on the searats today. Every fighting hare was summoned, leaving Quincy with the mountain's healers, cooks, leverets and elderly. Quincy himself was none of these, so when the last of the hares had exited the barracks he found himself utterly alone in the cavernous room.

At least when he was alone he wasn't being mocked, Quincy thought bitterly to himself as he knelt down and began to scrub the floor. It wasn't long before the telltale clang and clatter of battle drifted faintly through the windows. Quincy scrubbed harder, though the sound of rag against stone was no match for the sounds of pain and death outside. The hare hummed to himself, stopping in horror when he realized he'd been unintentionally humming an old Long Patrol marching song. He quickly switched to an innocent lullaby.

Quincy scrubbed the floor without incident, sweat trickling down his brow by the time he finished up the final unwashed patch. Dropping his cloth back into the bucket of now highly blackened water, the hare sat against the cool stone wall, clenching and unclenching his tired paws. All this for a lump of metal some badger had whacked with a hammer.

Quincy didn't know how long he sat there, soaking up the coolness of the ancient stone, but after a while several hares came back into the barracks, throwing their weapons down dejectedly. Quincy got to his footpaws and strode toward the group of hares, recognizing one to be his one-time friend, Rockleap.

"What's the matter there, Rock?" he spat contemptuously, not able to contain himself. "Don't feel like getting drunk off your bloody scut this time, eh? Or did you not kill enough beasts for that?"

To his surprise, Rockleap threw a quick punch, catching Quincy hard in the jaw. The hare went down, his jaw feeling as though it might fall off, and looked up to see several hares restraining Rockleap as he fought to get at Quincy. Hot anger coursed through Quincy's veins; this would be the perfect time to strike, to get one good kick in, right in Rockleap's smug face...

Before Quincy had time to ponder the situation further, Rockleap roared, "Lord Morramel is dead! He died defending Mossflower and this is how you show your thanks?" The hare fought to free himself but the other hares were too strong. "I was your friend once, Quincy, but I never knew you were such a coward. The next time I see you you'd better hope I've got beasts to restrain me!"

The group of hares dragged him from the room as Quincy sat up. The Badger Lord was dead, killed by his headstrong decision to charge prematurely into battle. If Quincy had been as reckless, he probably would've come off much worse with Rockleap.

The hare sighed, his ears drooping mournfully. What was the point of getting angry at somebeast like Rockleap? It was just wasted energy. He only hoped Rockleap would come to this conclusion as well.

But knowing Rockleap of old, he wouldn't. He was what the other hares would call a true mountain hare, a Long Patroller through and through, and all that nonsense. Quincy remembered the rivalry they'd once had, as both of them seemed to be destined for greatness. Thankfully, Quincy had snapped out of all that, but Rockleap's ego only continued to inflate.

"Excuse me."

"Oh, what now?" Quincy snapped without looking up. "I suppose you'll want to hit the other side of..."

It was then that he noticed the haremaid staring down at him and offering him a paw. He took it and she helped him up.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I've just not had an awful lot of luck today."

"You're Quincy Tulep, right?"

Quincy had no idea who this hare was, but it seemed as though everyone knew his name these days. "Yes, I'm Quincy Tulep."

"I've had my eye on you lately, Quincy. It seems as though you're having a rough time ever since you decided to give up your weapon and strive for peace."

At the sound of the last word the haremaid's eyes lit up. Quincy stared at her curiously.

"Are you sure you're not here to hit me?" he asked.

The haremaid chuckled. "Oh, of course not. I too gave up my weapons, though I joined the kitchen staff as a cover. It's not exactly a good idea to just say you don't want to fight around here."

"You're jolly well telling me," Quincy growled. "So what brings you up from the kitchens then? I thought it was customary to eat way too much food after indiscriminately inflicting death on vermin."

"Well, most beasts are too shocked with Morramel's death to want to eat much yet."

"Funny. You'd think the deaths of other creatures would make this lot sad too, but apparently badgers have the only lives worth mourning."

Quincy knew he was being disrespectful and half expected the haremaid to hit him, but she nodded in agreement. "I agree with you completely, Quincy. Just don't let any of the other hares hear you saying that, or you'll get a lot worse than what Rockleap gave you."

Quincy groaned. "You saw that then, did you?"

"I did," she said. "Thankfully you won't have to worry about Rockleap for much longer though."

The haremaid pulled a small scroll from one of her pockets and handed it to Quincy. "This just arrived for you today. I got one also."

The hare unfurled the scroll, his eyes traveling over the thin, spidery writing it contained.

_To Quincy Tulep:_

_You have been selected to join the Order of Armistice, Mossflower chapter. Should you wish to join, an introductory meeting will take place in a week's time. Enclosed is a map with directions to our headquarters. We hope to see you then._

_Sincerely,  
Jeremy, Head of the Order_

_"The time for peace is now."_

Quincy looked up at the smiling haremaid. "Order of Armistice? What is this?"

"Oh, it's a wonderful organization. There are woodlanders and creatures you might refer to as vermin, working side by side and trying to find a nonviolent solution to their differences."

Quincy's ears perked up. "What, really? I wasn't aware such a thing existed. How did they ever find out about me?"

"Well, er, I sent them a letter telling all about you when I applied. I heard about what you did and I thought you'd be perfect for it. My mother was a member of the Order and she always wanted me to be in it too. I just thought it was high time I joined."

"And does this mean leaving Salamandastron for good?"

"Perhaps. They'll evaluate you and tell you where you're best suited. Anyway, if we're to make it on time we've got to leave by tonight." She paused. "Would you like to discuss this with your family?"

"I am my family," said Quincy. "I never knew my parents, and my aunt and uncle took care of me just long enough to drop me off here."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. They had other things on their plate, I'm sure. And that's saying something for a hare," he added with a faint smile.

The haremaid's own smile broadened. "Well, I'll leave you to think about it for a bit, I suppose. I'll be waiting at the entrance at midnight."

She was just crossing the threshold when Quincy blurted, "Wait, I didn't get your name."

The haremaid poked her head back around the door frame. "Jolice. Best dress warm if you're coming, Quincy. Winter in Mossflower can be fairly brutal."

* * *

Of course, it didn't take Quincy too long to decide. He figured that if the Order of Armistice was not his cup of tea, he could always go back to Salamandastron or even press on to Redwall. Perhaps the abbeydwellers might even let him join their peaceful order. Although he wasn't too sure about being called Brother Quincy.

Jolice was an excellent guide; as she explained to Quincy, she'd made the trek with her mother many times in the past. Quincy was not used to the cold and snow, spending his nights curled up as close to the fire as Jolice would allow him to be, huddled under his heaviest cloak. Jolice was becoming a fast friend; Quincy found her easy to talk to, and it was utterly refreshing to have someone agree with him about fighting for once.

One morning, as snow floated lightly to the already white ground, and Quincy was sure his paws wouldn't be able to take any more frigid soaking, Jolice stopped suddenly in front of him. The hare only just stopped himself from running into her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"There," she said, pointing.

Quincy's eyes followed her extended paw, and he saw through a break in the trees a magnificent castle which looked as though it had been wedged in a gap between a pair of great mountains by some giant paw. For a moment he just stood there, staggered by the sight of it.

"The headquarters of the Order of Armistice," said Jolice proudly.

As they exited the wood, Quincy noticed an odd pair of creatures that had exited from a different point and were nearing the castle. One of them was big, and the other rather small in comparison. As they drew nearer Quincy saw that it was a badger and a mouse, and as they drew even nearer...

"Is that...Lady Rhea?"

"Oh yes," said Jolice, looking rather unsurprised to see her. "Rhea came to the kitchens trying to smuggle a bunch of food out. I was a bit suspicious and followed her. She left after discovering her fiancé dead."

"Left? What do you mean, left?"

"She left, just walked across the beach and headed to Mossflower. I could hear her muttering something about the Order of Armistice. I wouldn't be surprised if she's come to join too. She always seemed the type, and just between you and me, she definitely didn't approve of Lord Morramel's dashing off into his last battle."

Just then, Quincy noticed Rhea taking off at a run for the castle, leaving the mouse in the dust. "What's she running for?"

For once, Jolice didn't have an explanation. "I...really don't know."

"Wait, Lady Rhea!"

"Quincy, I don't think..."

But Quincy was off, his footpaws crunching in the snow as he sped off toward Rhea. Rhea was fast, but not many could outrun a mountain hare, even in snow. The young hare caught up with the badger as she neared the drawbridge.

"Lady Rhea, wait up!"

The hare had a brief conversation with her, becoming somewhat embarrassed when she referred to him as "_The_ Quincy Tulep." As Jolice jogged up to the group, Rhea quickly slipped away, entering the castle with the mouse.

"Funny that," Quincy remarked. "She seems to be acting a little strange. You think she's just nervous to admit she's joined the Order of Armistice, Joli?"

Jolice's smile never altered a flicker. "Something like that."

The two hares padded across the drawbridge, Quincy shaking snow from his footpaws. It was his first encounter with the stuff, and he certainly didn't mind if it was his last.


	9. What Luck!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 7. ****What Luck!  
**

_by Kima  
_

Kima strolled down the woodland path, whistling a cheery melody. Her drawstring pouch sailed through the air, tossed back and forth between her paws. It had been a very productive day, she decided. After that round of gambling in the last village, her moneybag was twice as full as it had been and its weight felt twice as nice.

But she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was being followed. She had felt eyes on her ever since leaving town. Any time she cast a glance behind her, however, there was never anybeast there. _Of course._ Anyone who had ever followed her always ended up being good enough at stalking that she never saw them until they revealed themselves.

Or else she was simply horrible at spotting them.

"Afternoon, kitty."

Kima jumped, tail fluffing lightly.

Standing in front of her, leering maliciously, stood a large weasel, paw on sword. He looked vaguely familiar and decidedly ugly. Then again, Kima thought all weasels looked pretty much the same. Their muzzles always seemed to be asking for a nice jab to the nose.

"Did you think you could get away by paying off one, measly guard? Think we'd just let you go?"

What in the world was this idiot blabbing about? If the weasel thought that mentioning a guard she had paid off was supposed to mean something to her, he was stupider than he looked. There was just no way she could remember every bribed guard she had ever slipped gold to.

By this time, several more vermin had emerged from the trees. Their weapons were in their paws, and more than a couple were being waved about in a menacing fashion that did nothing to convince the feline they knew what they were doing. Still, they had weapons, and she didn't.

As they encircled their intended victim, Kima finally recognized one. His face was indelibly etched into her memory.

Near-death experiences tend to do that.

"You!" she cried, pointing at a dagger-wielding ferret. "You're from that group last week! The one that tried to kill me!" Now that she had a context within which to place the vermin, their faces clicked into place. "You're all from that group I played dice with!" A tinge of panic began to wheedle its way into the back of her mind. This couldn't be good.

"What do you know! The kitty finally remembers." The weasel laughed harshly. "So we are. And we still want to be repaid."

"But – but you got practically all your gold back!" It was true. Kima had barely made it out of that particular town with what she started with.

"Not after we had to pay that fine for 'disturbing the peace.'"

"That wasn't my fault. You were the ones trying to kill me," Kima protested. Her eyes darted back and forth, and she tried to surreptitiously slip her gold into a pocket.

The weasel saw it and unsheathed his rapier. "That's quite a fat purse you got there."

Kima froze, then laughed nervously. "Why, so it is. Quite observant of you."

"I bet you got more than enough to pay us back."

"Um, yes. I bet I do, too." Kima didn't like where this was going. Her tail was twitching spasmodically to and fro, and her ears were flat against her skull. Wouldn't it be lucky if someone saved her right about now.

The weasel held out a paw. "Well then. Hand it…"

There was a whizzing noise, and all eyes went to the arrow shaft that had decided to take up residence in the weasel's chest. Even he blinked confusedly as a dark stain began to spread across his tunic. His rapier clattered to the ground, followed a moment later by his body.

Kima's eyes were wide. She stared at the dead weasel in shock. Rarely had she seen a dead body before, and never had she been there when someone _became_ a dead body.

The rest of the vermin seemed just as surprised by this sudden turn of events. Their reverie was broken, however, by shouts and battlecries from the forest to the left of the path. Out of the underbrush thundered a group of woodlanders, a burly otter at the forefront. Most of the vermin turned to confront this threat, but Kima was not one of them. She wanted to be saved, true, but doubted she would find her salvation in well-armed woodlanders.

Her instincts taking over, she bowled down a rat and took off in the opposite direction.

"Get the cat!"

"Skipper's got her!"

Her blood ran cold at those words, and she risked a glance back. A single otter – the biggest one – was chasing after her. Cursing her luck, Kima picked up her pace.

Maybe today really wasn't her lucky day.

It didn't take long for the sounds of battle to fall far behind her, but that otter – that blasted otter – wasn't giving up.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted over her shoulder. "I didn't do anything to you!"

The only response was a javelin thudding into the tree next to her. Tail bushed out to near double its size, Kima hunched lower and ran on, foliage whipping her face along the way. Finally, just when she was thinking she could run no farther, the cat looked behind her and saw…nothing. The otter wasn't there.

Sighing with relief, Kima slowed to a walk. She slumped against a tree and slid to the ground. Her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest, and her breath was coming in ragged gasps, but she didn't care. She was still alive.

And she still had her gold!

Affectionately rubbing the drawstring pouch that had somehow managed to stay safely in her paws the entire time she was running, the feline laughed. What luck those woodlanders had attacked when they did! A moment later, and she likely would have ended up a lot poorer than she currently was.

Leaning her head back, Kima grinned triumphantly at the sky – the dark, cloudy, foreboding sky. Her grin turned to a frown. It looked like rain, and that wasn't good. She was in the middle of nowhere, and nowhere was exactly where she would likely be finding shelter. No, this wasn't good at all.

"Where'd you disappear to, cat?"

Kima froze, breath catching in her throat. _Really? Really?! He followed me all this way?_

Slowly, slowly, she peered around the side of the tree trunk. There, not twenty paces away, was the otter. He was drawing closer at a moderate pace, being very deliberate to poke his javelin into anything that might be a hiding spot.

Turning back around, the cat licked dry lips, her mind racing. How was she going to get out of _this_ one? Her gaze fell on her bag of gold – now her sole possession. She hefted it thoughtfully.

_Maybe if I hit him hard enough…_

The otter was much closer now, his position given away by his heavy breathing. So he was just as tired as she was. That was a definite plus. Drops of rain began to fall, their descent slowed by the tree branches. The otter was right on the other side of the tree. Eyes wide, Kima gripped her bag tightly, claws sinking in. _Here we go!_ With a savage scream, she leapt out from behind the tree and swung her moneybag straight at the face of a very startled otter. Her blow connected with a satisfying solidness, and the otter toppled without a sound.

A little startled, herself, at what she had just done, Kima stood there, arms still raised. _Is he…dead? _ Kneeling, she inspected the otter and wasn't quite sure whether to feel relieved or not when his chest moved visibly up and down. She hadn't killed him. Nor had she hit him all that hard.

Which probably meant he would be coming around soon. And Kima knew she wanted to be anywhere but next to this otter when he woke up.

The rain was coming down in full force when Kima set off at a light jog away from the unconscious otter, bag of gold coins in paw. She hadn't run far, however, before she again felt someone watching her. A bit more paranoid now, she slid to a halt and sent glares in every direction. "Who are you?" she yelled out. "Show yourself!"

What showed itself was hardly what Kima expected: a rather small vole, his expression entirely neutral. He didn't seem at all perturbed by the pouring rain.

"Who are you?" she demanded, a growl building in her throat. "Are you with that otter?"

"As a matter of fact, I am not." His voice made Kima pause. It was as neutral as his face. No emotion whatsoever. "I come bearing a message for you, miss Kima."

"Yeah? Well, did you have to be so…" Something about what the vole said struck the feline as odd. She was absolutely certain she had never met this woodlander before. "How did you know my name?"

"I have followed you since you left the previous town, and, as I said, I have a message for you."

"It was _you_ following me this whole time?" Which meant, of course, that those other vermin had been lying in wait for her. Now _that_ was a real comforting thought.

A flicker of impatience flashed across the vole's face, but was gone as soon as it came. "That is correct. Now, would you allow me to deliver my message?"

Kima threw up a paw in exasperation. "I don't care. You've followed me all the way out here, you might as well tell me what you want to say."

The vole strode forward and offered a sealed scroll.

Taking it with a suspicious glare, Kima opened it and began to read.

_Miss Kima,_

Congratulations! You are a lucky winner of Mossflower's first country-wide lottery. From a pool of all Mossflower's residents, you have been selected. Your prize is as follows:

~ 5,000 gold pieces

You are cordially invited to a celebratory dinner to meet and commingle with the nine other winners, to be followed by an award ceremony with the lottery's main contributor, the esteemed Professor Falliss.

The deliverer of this message will guide you to the castle of Professor Falliss, where the celebration is set to commence upon the arrival of all ten winners.

We look forward to seeing you there.

Warmest wishes,  
The Mossflower Lottery Board

By the time Kima finished reading the letter, the falling rain had blurred most of the writing. Some of the ink had even bled onto her paws, but she couldn't care less. She didn't even mind being soaked through. Eyes shining, she grinned at the vole. "Well, how's that for luck!"

"Am I correct in believing you wish to attend?" the vole questioned.

"Of course I'll come!" Kima tossed the wet parchment aside and grabbed the solemn messenger into a wet, furry hug.

The vole, despite himself, pulled back, a slightly-alarmed expression on his face. "Please refrain from doing that again, Miss Kima."

"Oh, lighten up! It's not like a smile will kill you!"

"I'm not paid enough to smile."

Kima laughed and tossed her new best friend her pouch full of gold coins. "Here's a bonus, then. I won't be needing it after this."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It took several days of brisk travel for the pair to reach their destination. The entire trip took place under a constant downpour. Well, for the most part, anyways. As they traveled further north, the rain changed to snow. A combination of this, freezing temperatures, and wet clothing that had never managed to dry fully led to Kima developing the beginnings of a cold.

Despite all this, Kima managed to keep a cheerful attitude. The fantasies she had about what she would do with her gold undoubtedly helped immensely in this endeavor. Still, after a particularly dreary day full of thick, swirling snow, even her good spirits began to flag.

"Voley." The vole refused to tell her his name, so she had simply taken to calling him Voley. He didn't seem to have any objections to the nickname.

As a matter of fact, outside of physical contact, he didn't seem to have any objections to much of anything. At first this had bothered Kima, but she had finally accepted it with a sort of weary resignation.

"Voley," she repeated, stumbling on a dip hidden beneath the snow. "How much farther?"

"We will be arriving shortly." Voley's expression never changed, his pace never flagged, and his replies never varied. For the past three days, he had been saying they would arrive shortly.

Kima was tempted to ask him what, exactly, he meant by "shortly."

Just as she was getting up her nerve to do so, the vole halted and pointed ahead. "There is Professor Falliss' castle."

Kima sneezed. "Where?" Wrapping her damp coat about her shivering body, she peered ahead, eyes squinting to try and see through the snow. Finally, she saw it. No more than a mile away, nestled snugly against a mountain, what was most definitely a castle rose up majestically into the darkened sky.

And inside it, her prize waited. Her gold. Her five thousand pieces of gold.

"It'll be warm in there, right?"

"Yes, the temperature will be quite satisfactory."

"Then what are we waiting out here for?" Spirits soaring, the wildcat sneezed again before setting off at a faster pace than before, the vole trailing behind her.

It didn't take very long at all for them to reach the front gate of the castle. When they arrived, Kima was more than a little disappointed. It looked so regal from far away. But up close, it was so large and forbidding and…and…

_Deserted._

Kima stared hard at the castle. _Is this really where the celebration is supposed to be?_

Voley brushed by the wildcat and strode inside. "This way to your room, Miss Kima."

_I guess it is._

So, following after her guide, Kima sneezed and entered into the castle of Professor Falliss, eager to meet the other lottery winners.


	10. The Cracks Of Unsafe Thinking,

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 8. The Cracks of Unsafe Thinking,  
**

_by Raine  
_

Raine had never believed that there was a point in rationalizing things. It was best to take them as they are, she decided- and thought no more of it. But even the mousemaid, who fancied herself lenient with the rules of reality, thought the events of the past few days were just a little bit _strange_.

And that, my friend, is _not_ a good sign.

It started on a sunny day in autumn. The birds were singing, including some that Raine felt sure weren't scheduled to sing yet... other than that, though, all seemed right with the world.

"Ok, Mr. Sumpkins," She announced cheerily. "Your painting's done. My, you look tired, don't you? That sword prop is so heavy. Why don't you rest there a bit? I've just gotta put my signature on and-"

There was a pained yelp as the squirrel stabbed himself in the paw with the fake sword, and was clutching it wretchedly as it swelled.

"Bandages are over there, by the box of props," Raine said absentmindedly, as she put the last few touches on. "Or there's mud by the stream, if you prefer a poultice."

It was evident that his paw needed one, yet Mr. Sumpkins went red and mumbled, "Dunno... How..."

The mousemaid rolled her eyes. Were the wealthy really that helpless? And yet here he was, posing as a hero, to show his wife and children that, indeed, he had done something proper and noble in his life. Nope, don't mention all the times I bribed the vermin not to massacre my family, instead I killed them all. Righteously! Because that's how it's supposed to be done! Oh right, and there was a painter there to capture it all. Good, wasn't she?

It certainly sounded better for the neighbors to hear.

Raine sighed and squelched her way from the edge of the mossy painting area to the edge of the stream, wincing as her paws got muddy. No painting for at least half an hour, now, she thought. At least... Well, they might be rich, and stupid to boot, but they pay well, and that's what matters. You got to look after yourself before bringing the troubles and concerns of the rest of the world into your life.

She finished dabbing the stuff unto the offending paw and was just about to put some herbs on as well (because history liked repeating itself, and you learn something each time it does), when an ominous shadow swept over both of them like a wave of darkness. _Well done,_ she thought,_ I didn't even hear you coming. _

Mr. Sumpkins, the brave squirrel whose heroic pose was featured in her latest masterpiece, cowered and squeaked something that sounded like "you can have all my nuts, just spare my life... Please..."

Whereas Raine turned around, quite calmly, and said, "How can I help you, sir- ma'am?"

In situations such as these, creatures automatically assumed either her survival skills had fled long ago, or she had gone plain bonkers. And they're probably right. What they don't count on is Raine knowing those things as well- and not being afraid to manipulate them to her advantage. A goodbeast will simply walk up to you and say hello if they wanted to talk. An ominous shadow expects its recipient to be well-terrified by the time they look up (peeing yourself is a bonus.) _Speaking from the viewpoint of a beast that had ample opportunity to experiment with these things,_ she thought, _every danger has its pride to account for. Even if they were a grotesque, murdering villain with a god complex._

The hedgehog stared down its snout at them, apparently not responding to Raine's "special" treatment except for a tiny twitch of the mouth, and handed her a bumpy, oblong package that it had somehow retrieved from the pack on its back.

And then it lumbered off, without a word.

"How very interesting," Raine muttered, as she watched the enormous beast sprint away effortlessly. She knew it would be of no use to shout after him; if he didn't even greet you it was pointless to entice further conversation. Her thoughts turned ultimately away from the odd event and toward her customer. "Sir... If you would like your painting now-sir?"

The squirrel, too, was gone. His running instinct had kicked in too late, pondered Raine ruefully. If it would've been a real vermin, he would be dead by now. Oh well. I can survive without a few nuts and berries.

As the sky gathered storm clouds with the grumpiness of any beast that's happy for too long, Raine ran to her den in the hillside, clutching the abandoned painting of Mr. Sumpkins... and a mysterious delivery. The package was unwrapped eagerly, without fear of danger. The Story was protecting her, after all, and there was no way it would let a heroine die so ingloriously. Poisoned by a couple o' herbs hidden inside a package that a stranger gave my gran, yes, that's how she died. Oh, and by the way, she saved the abbey too. _As if. _

The crumbly brown covering got torn open to reveal a painting. And a letter. Well. She'd been hoping for something more exciting. Hmm, there was still a chance… Come on, now…

The letter was attacked with similar enthusiasm. Inside there was a plain white strip of parchment. It read,

_"Dear Lady Raine,  
You're hereby invited to the Castle of Professor Falliss- _  
Ooh, very nice, evil name, I would say, oh, about a seven on a scale of one to ten. Too bad some beasts have a perverted imagination. Hee hee.

_(Stop giggling now, Lady Raine!) _

Okay... creepy... not totally bizarre, though. Some creatures-

_- have the power to read minds. Yes. It's a relief I'm one of them, otherwise you would not be reading this right now, would you?_

Nope. I would probably be burning it, actually. For you having to get this far and be completely wrong about my psyche… ugh, very amateur indeed- and definitely not worth my time.

_Indeed. Anyway, you're hereby invited to the Castle for a casual dinner. Other creatures with the same problem will also be there. And then, afterwards, a talk with the professor about your Story problem. I suspect you'd want to be rid of it…?_

So you know my past as well? A stalker? I'm flattered.

_Not in the least. We just want to help you. After all, you have nothing to lose. _

True... If it was a trap, my Story will protect me, and if you're telling the truth, I'll finally be rid of it forever, and I'll control my own life, for once. So how do I get there?

_Watch the castle, step into rain._

I'll pretend I know what that means.

_Good luck, Lady Raine- although you should know as well as anyone else that luck is always on your side. _

Thank you anyway, She replied dutifully. And there the letter ended. She sat down hard on a weedy reed mat, staring out into the furiously sweeping rain, and remembered just in time to close the door. (Otherwise her home would've been flooded.)

I really am going bonkers, she thought. A letter was talking to me! Where was it again? I must keep it... I'm forgetting the clue already.

But, like all clues, it was gone. The dreary rain mocked her precariously low spirits. The only thing left was the painting. And that was no help, because it was of-

A castle.

_Aha. _

As it turned out, Raine didn't need to watch the painting. It watched her. She could detect its unpleasant gaze drilling into the back of her head _even_ when she sat outside to paint. What's more, the mousemaid knew when it changed, from one "mood" to another- because it reflected her own. For example, if she was feeling happy, the scenery and the castle itself would change to one of sunshine, singing birds and general cheeriness. Likewise, if she was feeling sad, the opposite happened: Foreboding storm clouds, flashes of lightning...

What Raine couldn't figure out was how it did it, without her noticing. But she knew enough not to be too curious about it. Sometimes secrets aren't meant to be figured out.

Even so, how was she supposed to make it rainy? She'd already tried being depressed and tired. All that did was produce a kind of misty, foggy effect. It needed something stronger, then. And what if her whole concept was wrong? What if she wasn't supposed to literally step into the painting? The mousemaid was exasperated with the whole thing, and as business picked up, quickly forgot the entire matter.

Thus, Raine hadn't pursued the subject for a couple of months, and the painting now held the glistening whiteness of loss of memory, which corresponded strangely with the whiteness of snow outside. It was during a small break from painting the brave exploits of Juniper Harkur that she saw it, almost sulking in a dusty corner.

She felt- _what?_- sorry for the painting and thought that it couldn't do any harm to try it one more time. (Such obsessive curiosity was a thing only someone completely devoid of basic common sense- and common sense that stayed- could afford.) The whole thing was weird enough to be arranged by a couple of depressed woodland teenagers who wanted something to do for a sunny afternoon. Raine dusted it off and stared at the jutting spires forlornly. One more time.

Rain. Rain._ Raine._ What did it matter? Her Story was going to stick with her, for the entirety of her miserable, loveless life, unless, and this was important, she died in a glorious way that encompassed some sort of moral value.

She should've known not to mess with those books, those fantasy tales about Triss and Mariel and Tiria. The Story had quickly eaten into her mind by then; she was desperate to be just like them, with their glorious heroine destinies and invincibility and goodness. She didn't know all things came with a price. She didn't know her family was going to be murdered, and she would drop her little brother in a bush, convincing herself she would pick him up later, once she'd gotten safely away, away from his loud crying, away from the vermin following.

It was too late to stop the actions of Story. She knew, then, that she _had_ to avenge her family, no matter what. It wasn't her fault that she'd killed so many vermin, either. Her Story had take control by then, and convinced her it was right, along with the opinions of all the Abbey beasts that welcomed her into their home. The world could do without a few piteous vermin, which turned into dozens, hundreds, thousands. But it wasn't her choice. It was the Story's, which was made up of the histories and destinies of all the beasts it captured, and then suffocated, in its righteousness. And her brother's death, as a result of a battle between the Redwallers and some horde, was the last straw. She was going to leave it all behind, and make her own decisions, even though they might be selfish and cruel. They were hers, not what some parasitic Story thought a heroine should do.

That's why she'd been the first beast to _volunteer_ to be banished from the Abbey.

She realized that her ramblings had turned into tears, and they were dripping down the painting and dissolving its colors like a watery eraser. Raine could only watch in helpless fascination as the picture drowned in her racking sobs, until only the bottom, the part with the drawbridge and the moat- was left. Somehow she found the idiocy to put her paws below the dribble of liquid, hoping to stop its destruction...

The fall through the painting could've lasted a millisecond, or a thousand seasons, and the little mousemaid wouldn't have known the difference. Determination of mind trascended over time, stitched over it, so that the hundreds of hours of trekking it took to arrive at the castle faded to one, breathless moment.

The drawbridge was lowering, casting an ominous shadow, and the castle was too real to be a dream. Yet Raine couldn't resist a self-satisfied smile.

It was raining.


	11. Revenge is a bitter pill

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 9. Revenge is a bitter pill  
**

_by Flynn  
_

Rain was pouring down in buckets on the grassy field. Every living thing that stood out from grass was like to be soaked to the bone on a night like this. Thunder crashed ominously nearby, getting nearer every second. In short, it was not a night to be outside.

"Oh no, Skipper! No NO NO NO! Skipper!"

A sodden form could be seen lying on its side in the grass. A huge male otter, he was obviously dead, judging from the number of spears in his side. At his side sat a female otter, holding the corpse's paw, tears streaming down her already wet features.

"Listen Skip, I'll find them, those that did this to you, I'll find them, I promise you that. When I find them, I'll make them pay, yes… They'll scream half a season before they're done. When I catch up with them, I promise….I'll lay their skins upon your grave!"

_The Vermin. It had to have been the vermin. No other creatures killed so savagely and cowardly. It had probably been a gang of them, ambushing him from the back…Yes, that must have been it! No beast could have fought with the Skipper of Otters paw to paw._

Three days ago, he had left. "I'll be right back." He had said in an attempt to placate her. "It's a routine woodland patrol, there's hardly any vermin in this stretch of woods anyways. I won't be gone long, one day, two days at the most." She remembered seeing him walk away, into the forest with the patrol at his back. How foolishly she had hoped he would come to no harm!

When he hadn't come back, she had gone to look for him. The driving rain could not deter Flynn from searching throughout the woodlands calling for Skipper. Finally, she had tracked down the scene of the battle field. Woodlanders and vermin lay scattered across the ground. Skipper was not there. Skipper's tracks had led far away from the carnage. It was there she had found him, alone and forsaken.

Flynn stood up, ignoring the still driving rain. She had to move the body now. The middle of a field was not worthy enough to be the final resting place of Skipper. Grabbing both ends of Skipper's feet, she made to attempt a rough coverage of the body with dirt and sticks. She had gotten halfway done with this procedure when she caught movement in the corner of her eye.

Turning around, she saw two moles standing side by side in the field just ahead of her. Strangely, they did not seem disconcerted in the least by the pouring rain. Finally, it was evident to them that Flynn was waiting for them to say something. The first one stepped forward arm outstretched and spoke. "Lady Flynn, we have come to deliver a message."

_Something was definitely off. To begin with the first strange thing, they did not even have the mole accents! Flynn did not even know where to begin commenting on their passive,emotionless tone. _

"You are officially and cordially invited to the house of one Professor Fallis, on an errand you might take interest in." The mole intoned in a flat, emotionless voice. "He resides in Northern Mossflower, and is currently awaiting your presence." After reciting this message, he and his accomplice stood rigid, almost as if waiting for some new order.

Flynn stood there, open mouthed, glaring at the two moles. Was this some kind of joke? Here she was, soaking wet, with a dead body and now those two clowns wanted her to go dashing off on some errand? "Wait a second; you somehow do not even see this body at my feet?" She yelled, "I have to bury him right now. After I do that, I have to track his killer! Do you even have any idea how little time I have to play games right now?"

The moles did not seem to be in the least disconcerted with the otter's rage. "We have orders to guide you to the castle of Professor Faliss; it is situated in the northernmost reaches of Mossflower. Nine others have been asked to come also. He assures you that your time will not be wasted. If you were to come now, the body would be buried in your absence."

Flynn stood there puzzled. How could she be certain that they would bury the body? She shook her head in disbelief, what kind of fool did they take her for? As she was shaking her head, she felt a quantity of wet substance slide off. Curious, she reached up and felt the top of her head. Only then did she realize that the driving rain had turned into snow at some point in the conversation. The body would be buried under the snow, and be safe-for the time being.

"It appears you were right about the body" she said in a somewhat muted tone. She then stopped to glare at the two moles. "But for the time being, there is still the matter of avenging Skipper. For the mate of a Skipper, there is no honorable alternative other than this. His killer must be found and brought to justice. Until that happens, I have no time for tea parties."

The moles gave Flynn a look that could almost be taken for a knowing smile. _Was that a smile?_ "Master Faliss invited nine other beasts to the castle. Some of them were vermin beasts." The moles pause as Flynn visibly took this in stride. "One of the nine other beasts invited to the castle is the beast you are seeking." The mole paused again. "I have Master Faliss's word that he gives you free license to seek your revenge upon the one responsible. When you are ready, we will lead you to his residence."

Flynn tried to say something, anything but the words just wouldn't come out. Skipper's killer was at the castle? This 'Faliss' character offering her a chance to avenge her loss? What was his game? She finally found the words to express herself. "I accept the invitation. Nevertheless, I need no guide. I must go-alone."

So saying, she ripped one of the spears out of Skippers corpse and walked right past the moles._The castle, of course she knew where that was. Long ago, when she had just been a pup, she had seen it from a distance. The castle had been near an old otter trading route. She still remembered the way to it clear as day. That had been the trip her father died._ She moved through the forest, oblivious to everything except getting to the castle.

Hours passed, her paws were blistered and sore, and yet she did not pay the least attention. Suddenly she saw it- A large building rising above the trees. Flynn hurried to reach the clearing and the path that led up to the castle. _The castle was at the base up a mountain, past a long winding path. A moat and a drawbridge prevented unauthorized access. On the path stood a guard, a Lone squirrel dressed in odd garb standing blank-eyed in the middle of the path._

Flynn strode up the path, following its intricate winding and haphazardness. Eventually she stood face to face with the squirrel. "I believe I was invited by the good professor to his abode. Do I have your permission to pass?"

The squirrel looked Flynn right in the eye and held out his fore paw. "Professor Faliss does not allow any weapons to be brought into the castle. If you would be so kind as to leave the spear with me Flynn, you may proceed."

_Of course, if his master knows who I am, it is likely the servant would too. No matter, a castle of this size must have few arms somewhere…_"Here", she growled "Take it" She thrust the spear onto his paw. "If it's all right with you, I'll be going on my way now."

Without waiting for an answer, Flynn walked right past the squirrel and headed toward the moat. As she watched, she noticed there was another beast at the moat's edge, waiting for the drawbridge to lower. _Was that a mouse? If so, the beast was dressed normally at least, and not like some brain dead slave. It seemed the other nine were here already…._


	12. The Charcoal, the Journal and the Newt

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 10. ****The Charcoal, the Journal and the Newt**

_by Saveaux  
_

He stood at the lip of the moat before the castle, spreading to either side of his vision and upward, a sense of foreboding radiating from the very brickwork. Behind, the sun was beginning its final descent.

The newt gulped and, realizing he could not complete the action due to a parched throat, quaffed half of the water contained within one of his canteens. He had taken to wearing a large belt with six of the containers strapped to it after an incident in which he had nearly dried out while venturing across several miles of arid land. The newt finished by dousing his face with more of the canteen's contents, replacing it in its spot on the belt once he was through. He wondered if he should call out to inform the gatehouse staff of his arrival, suddenly despairing at the thought. Bad enough he had a difficult time speaking a sentence, now he would have to shout?

His fears were allayed, however, upon hearing the sound of the drawbridge's descending. Where an impassible crevice had been before him moments ago were now large slabs of steel-strong wood. As he gingerly crossed towards the threshold, the newt felt his mind wander back to the event which he thought would hold little importance.

It was not as if he had viewed the occurrence as having no significance whatsoever. Rather, the newt simply believed that nothing substantial would come of it. The vole had approached the lake several days previous, touting a large haversack. The newt had paid the newcomer little attention until from the sack he produced a journal and charcoal stick. The moment he spied these items, Saveaux refuted his earlier decision to leave the beast altogether alone and instead steal closer as soon as he was not looking; Paper was a rare commodity, as precious as coin would be to a beast of more material taste.

At times when his urge to express his thoughts could not be satiated simply by tracing words through the air, Saveaux would take to scraping them in the sand with a thin stick. Yet these works were fickle and were no sooner crafted than undone by a midnight's rain, or trodden upon by travelers or the newt himself, or even swallowed up when the river feeding the lake caused it to swell. Saveaux's initial scheme was to take a page or several from the journal when the vole was fast asleep or otherwise indisposed, but he felt unsettled with his plan.

_Thievery, though it may in some cases be in one's best interest, is the work of naught but scoundrels, rapscallions and miscreants. A learned individual such as myself is none of these. Scavenger though I may be, I refuse to prey upon this poor soul in his travels; there may be an importance to the paper of which I am ignorant and thus each sheet he may require for his survival._

Silenced though his urge to indulge in theft was, the newt found it nigh impossible to quiet the compulsion to more closely survey his guest. Saveaux was traveling alone, having arrived at this safe haven without even a book for company. The newt would have taken one of the fragile volumes among his collection when he set out from his home lake, but he found the weight of even one to be too much of a burden on top of a supply sack.

Thinking of his books reminded him of his home and reminiscing about the old lake made him pause along his slow creep towards the vole.

The lake; where he was born, where he, before his encounter with his Blessed Friend the Hedgehog, had thought he would die. It was because of his Friend's passing that he felt the need to further study the world in which he lived. For, if his Friend and Teacher had come from the world outside, along with the treasure trove of volumes the shipwreck had brought with it, then it surely was a wondrous place meriting further examination.

Why did he ever follow that urge to explore?

The moon's light forced him out of his revere; the illumination on this night was so great, darkness would do little to conceal him. Outside of cover, he could easily be spotted. Thus, in a panic brought on by that sudden realization, the newt dove behind the nearest tree.

Saveaux drew himself into a crouch from his prone position, then extended upward to stand tall, pushing against the tree as if he would merge with the bark. Arms tightly at his sides, he cautiously glanced out from under his cover. The small percussive sound of a skinny amphibian making impact with a pile of leaves had not shaken the vole from his slumber. The newt's head swam with relief as he let go the breath he had been holding back, least his exhalations lead the vole to his position.

After three heartbeat's span, Saveaux slid around the tree, separating his back from the trunk only once he cast eyes upon another hiding spot. From the next tree, he did the same. The newt repeated the process, his minute footfalls sounding as beads in a gourd, until he was but ten paces away from the vole and the precious paper.

_Away_, he swatted at the thought, _I'll not thieve. My intent is purely to observe…_

Now mere inches away, he could hear the muted breathing of the vole in sleep. Saveaux's wide eyes remained focused on the creature for eons. Should he announce his presence?

He thought not. Dangerous enough was it to wake a stranger from dream, the newt's inability to explain himself, combined with his alien appearance – though not entirely insecure with his looks, Saveaux knew he appeared strange to those beasts blessed with more fur than he – would only further the danger. Instead, he continued to stare at the beast, burning the vole's face into his mind.

_Something of the wandering rogue about him. Not the villainous type, yet his visage suggests one well versed in many trades and travels, yet master of none. Mayhap his name is Jack?_

Saveaux giggled aloud at his own joke, the sound like dull claws dragging across hardwood in short bursts. The mirth froze in his throat when the vole stirred. Transfixed, the newt found he could not move his legs, even as the beast's eyes began to open a fraction. The eyes abruptly closed. Saveaux involuntarily slid the back of his forearm across his forehead in relief, although newts were incapable of sweating.

Certain that he had encountered enough peril for one night, the newt turned to leave, stopping upon noticing what was spread out before the vole: a journal filled from page to page with hastily scribbled words. It was nearly finished, as evidenced by the penultimate page, halfway covered with text, being the one currently on display. Saveaux again felt an irrepressible tickle in his gut, egging him on to examine the volume. He cast a quick glance at the sleeping vole, then shrugged.

_'Twill be no harm in perusing this beast's writing; I do not know him, nor he I, and because we more likely than not shall never cross paths again, 'twill be no great consequence should I violate his privacy._

Saveaux himself could not deny that his reasoning was flawed. The sanctity of a diary was as the sanctitiy of one's mind; an outsider had no right to view what was contained within. Perhaps his deprivation of reading material had been his downfall, he would later reason. How he should have sacrificed some of his supplies to carry the weight of a book – it would have saved him from so much tragedy thereafter.

The newt bent down, retrieved the volume, and sat crossed legged against the side of the tree opposite the vole. He closed the book, flipping it over to return to the beginning. As his little fingers peeled back the cover, his heart welled with anticipation. From the moment the first word upon the first page graced his eyes, Saveaux began drinking up the journal in large draughts. The echo of page scraping upon page became more frequent as his excitement sped his reading. And yet, once the initial thrill of reading when he had been deprived the privilege for so long wore off, the newt found his joy giving way to horror. As he neared the center of the volume, his face twisted in disgust.

_Unholy ghasts, this beast's writing is atrocious!_

He closed the book, staring at it as if staring at a sworn enemy.

_The grammar 'tis flawed as a moth-supped sheet, and the vocabulary 'tis base pedestrian at best. Fie!_

Saveaux sat, arms crossed over the book, gripping as if to choke the volume, then suddenly released. Sorrow began to flow over him. He leaned out from his cover to cast a glance at the still slumbering vole.

_Piteous creature, forgive me. Being privileged with naught but artfully constructed tomes previous has made me blind to the tribulations of a novice writer._

Saveaux reached across to the vole's pack, withdrawing a charcoal stick. He brandished it upward heroically.

_I shall aid you!_

The book was flipped back to the beginning. No sooner had it been reopened than the sounds of charcoal meeting paper accompanied the shorter gasps of page turns. The charcoal was his sword, the journal a dragon. Every other page, he vanquished an unneeded comma with a slash of the stick, rescued run-on sentences in distress with his powers of the literary, and repaired broken vocabulary with his artful diction. Saveaux edited the volume two times over before the sun began to draw over the horizon. So entrenched in his work he was that he did not realize the passage of time.

The newt was at the end of his third pass when the blank page and a half caught his eye like a fish hook. The white lengths of paper at the finish of the otherwise filled volume suddenly appeared foreign, as though another, shorter book had met with the one held within his hands. The finish of the last two passes had evoked a similar emotion, yet this time it was more intense, urgent. Those pages should be filled.

_Oh conundrum! But I have sworn not to thieve any of this creature's parchment, no matter how miniscule!_

The charcoal brushed against the blank paper until it formed a single letter. Saveaux's thoughts of protest dissipated as he was overcome with the desire, no, the necessity to write. In a trance, the charcoal stick crossed the lengths of the half page, the back, the last page and when those were not enough to contain the story, proceeded onto the inside back hardcover for the climax. His hand neared the end of his fiction and finished in his signature so that others may know who penned the tale. Saveaux felt a paw upon his shoulder.

Quicker than the beat of a gnat's wing, the newt's head twisted about to behold the perplexed expression plastered upon the vole's features. Saveaux was paralyzed.

"What are…?"

Where a moment ago sat a newt with a thick volume upon his lap now lay just the volume, small smatterings of footsteps resonating back through the wood, then a splash, then silence.

It had been early fall then. For weeks, the newt prepared for a retaliation, expecting the vole would return to murder or otherwise maim him for his act. Months later, Saveaux's worries had switched from being hunted by a vengeful vole to fortifying his dwelling against the cold. His old residence had held a covered trench where he had been able to take shelter in the winter months; the newt reasoned he should start by emulating that. That morning, he had set about excavating a good sized hole nearby his current mud and stick hut with the aid of a shovel he had constructed from fallen wood, rock and tree fibers fashioned into a twine. Saveaux was halfway done with the task when he heard footsteps.

Echoing his actions of the night he had decided to observe the vole, the newt dove behind the cover of a tree. The moment he had feared was come. Surely Saveaux's actions had enraged the vole and he no doubt had amassed an assault force to pillage his dwelling and execute the amphibian. The steps grew closer. That would be the advance guard, there to scout out the area before the full brunt of the force attacked. The newt's grip around the shovel grew tight. If he was to die, he would not go quietly.

Saveaux exploded out from his cover, shovel held high above his head. Into the breach, he had meant to shout, but instead meaningless sounds spilled from his throat as water from a brook. Emerged in battle high, the newt continued to run, coming within swinging distance of the intruder when he stopped. There was but one beast, a normal sized squirrel, standing in the midst of the clearing.

For a moment his mind gave way to panic; it was not the vole, but surely the squirrel was still the advance guard of a larger force. Something in the beast's face, though, told Saveaux that he was of a different entity. Unlike a hoardsbeast, the squirrel's features contained not a drop of rage, nor malice, nor any other emotion suggesting a warrior out for the kill. Nor any other emotion at all. The squirrel's visage was blank as slate.

"Saveaux?"

The newt jumped upon hearing his name. He was connected to the vole! How he now regretted signing his name at the end of that cursed story!

A small parcel dropped from the squirrel's paws. He was then motionless.

Saveaux debated fleeing for a moment. But that tickle in his stomach began again. There were no pitchforks, daggers, or swords, no warriors, archers or soldiers; his fears had been but paranoia. Were they real, he reasoned, the enemy would be upon him now. Instead, there was just this stranger, who appeared quite unarmed.

The newt dropped on all fours – for he was quicker then – and slithered warily over to the parcel where he snatched the object, retreating back a few feet. He made sure the squirrel was not going to move, then rolled open the page.

_**"Dearest Saveaux,**_

I have read your story and I must say I am deeply impressed; what an intriguing tale! The skill with which you craft your ballad is akin to naught, as is your use of sublime diction. Truly, you are an author one of a kind.  
Which is why, my dear friend, I am extending an invitation to my humble dwelling. I realize that you may be taken aback at having been invited to a beast's abode of whom you do not know, yet I pray you will hear me out. I am an author who delights in naught more than furthering my craft. As such, for the past few seasons I have sealed myself away in seclusion in order that I may focus on nothing aside from that goal. Extreme though it may be, such are the steps one must take for art.  
Two seasons past, I hired a beast with whom you may be familiar to roam the world and collect data on any interesting beasts he came across. The purpose, you ask? I needed inspiration for my masterwork and who better to base characters of my epic upon than actual individuals. As you may have already gathered, this beast who I hired came across your home and happened upon you. And I am most gracious he did, for now I believe I have finally found an equal with whose aid I may be able to complete my finest work.  
What I propose is a meeting of the minds; I would like you to follow my servant who has given you this message to my dwelling. There, you shall meet me along with nine other individuals upon whom I plan to base the principle characters of my story. With our combined talents, and, in addition, nine interesting personalities upon which we may build, we shall surely craft the finest legend that has ever been written.  
I understand that this idea may not appeal to you. After all, we have never met and asking you to venture so far away from your own home simply to write a meager book is unreasonable. Therefore, I shall understand if you refuse. But I pray, think about the possibilities and at least come for a night so that we may discuss it.

Sincerely,

Prof. Fallis, Slave to the Pen"

Saveaux was taken aback. Surely his meager tale had not been that finely crafted? Yet here was an invitation by a prestigious author within his own hands, all because he had dared to fill a mere three and a half pages full of story. True, he had not heard of this Professor Fallis, but the letter appeared eloquently enough put that he was sure the author was at least skilled to a point. That aside, the opportunity to craft his own tale was something he felt he would regret passing up.

Finished, Saveaux looked up at the squirrel.

"Y..yeees!" he rasped.

The squirrel lead him as far as a tavern called Wood's End. Upon arriving, the newt's companion paid the fee of a night's stay, gave him directions to the castle and went ahead, saying that he must leave Saveaux behind and continue onward least he be late in preparation for the party. How the newt hated being alone.

Saveaux pulled the raged cloak the squirrel had given him about his frame for warmth. The entryway appeared as a gaping maw. He swallowed.  
Now that he noticed how ominous the castle appeared, he suddenly questioned the validity of the letter. Even now, this could all be a trap by the vole.

_Nonsense! That was already dispelled as paranoid rambling when no act of violence came from it. The letter is what it claims to be, nothing more. Mayhap my ever fanaticizing mind seeks to add more meaning to this occurrence, but it is merely the compulsion to craft a tale._

Saveaux nodded to himself, keeping a determined face even as the drawbridge drew up behind him, the gates closed after like teeth and the door to the main hall opened to reveal a servant.

"Welcome. We hope you will enjoy your stay."


	13. Insomnia

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 11. ****Insomnia**

_by Nallmian  
_

Nallmian gave a resigned sigh as he squeezed his eyes shut and then reopened them, trying to refocus his hazy vision. It had been more than four days since the stoat had slept, and unfortunately his endurance was nearly at its limit. Nallmian didn't know if there had ever been a time when sleep had been something to be desired rather than avoid at any and all costs, but if there had been he couldn't remember it. Some of his earliest memories as a kit had been waking up screaming, sometimes bloody from clawing at himself or bitting down on his lips until they bled, sometimes aching from thrashing about and striking the walls or bedposts. During his early  
days as a rank and file hordebeast, his enthusiasm for night watches and scouting in the darkness had impressed superiors, but more than anything it had been the urgent need not to close his eyes and drift off that had spurred him.

The stoat shook his head jerkily, taking in the small cabin of the hired ship that was ferrying him up the coast from Lord Whitefire's territory to a port where a guide was waiting to take him to Professor Falliss' castle. The ship's owners were petty merchants, rough but not particularly threatening, and they did enough business in and around Lord Whitefire's territory that they had a good reason to perform their contract faithfully. Besides, Lord Whitefire always paid well. Nallmian had boarded the ship four days back, having forced himself to sleep at the fortress to try to avoid enduring sleep while on board a strange ship, but progress had been slower than he anticipated. It would be at least another day and a half before they reached port.

Nallmian glanced at his rucksack, where he had packed a generous supply of the light brown powder that was the one item he could never be without, the thing he was most dependent on. He remembered the immense, all-consuming relief at discovering its ingredients, and discovering that it worked, relief great enough that he had managed to get the vixen healer who first mixed it a job in the Red Ember Horde's infirmary. It was a mixture of various herbs and plants that produced a jolt of energy, lightening heavy limbs and clearing hazy vision. With enough of it he could stay awake long after a creature without it would have fallen asleep, could go for days without forcing himself to close his eyes and submit to the terrors that always came with sleep. The stoat was sorely tempted to eat another pinch of it, and stave off the horrors a little longer, but even exhausted he knew that that would be unwise. Although he had packed a good supply of it, and the odds were quite favorable that he would be able to obtain the ingredients to make more of it in the castle, he still had to be judicious with its use. More importantly, even with the brown powder he couldn't stay awake forever. Once, shortly before his promotion, he had been able to stay awake without sleeping for seven days, hunting a small band of woodlanders across miles of terrain without pause. But that had been years ago, with a younger Nallmian, more adrenaline and a much stronger version of the powder than the relatively weak variety he was able to prepare himself. With the short notice of the trip there hadn't been time to get the really strong type that the vixen herself made. Nallmian had tried many times, had followed her instructions to the letter, but even though his mixture was enough to keep him awake far beyond his normal limits, it was not the same as hers, and by now he had despaired of ever mastering it to the same extent. In any case, he suspected that there had been ingredients or steps that the vixen kept to herself, to make sure he always needed her help.

No, as tempting as it was he couldn't keep using the powder right now. He wasn't sure how long the business at the castle would take, but certainly too long to stay awake completely through his time there. It was better to take the risk of sleeping now, while he was on a ship of reasonably trustworthy creatures with an interest in his safe passage than to sleep any more than was necessary while at the castle. Maybe if it was short enough he could sleep only one night, or even avoid the ordeal altogether with enough powder and enough willpower.

Nallmian rolled up his sleeve and removed the armband under his tunic, with the sharp barbs that sank through his fur and dug into his flesh. Sometimes he put salt on the tips to increase the pain, because even if it was painful it was the normal type of pain, the wholesome type of pain, the type that could, after all, help keep him awake. He had found it on the body of a mouse one of his patrols had killed. The mouse was dressed like a member of some religious order, so maybe it was some sort of devotional tool or meditation aid. Nallmian didn't really care as long as it kept him awake.

Moving over to the bed in the cabin, the stoat slipped off his boots, then took a long strip of cloth and wrapped it around his muzzle, gagging himself. It would not be at all becoming for anyone to hear a horde captain screaming in his sleep, as happened frequently. Sometimes at the fortress he found a way to pinion his paws to stop himself from clawing or striking the walls or nearby hordebeasts, but he decided not to risk it on the ship. Glancing at the door he walked to the desk, took the chair from it and propped it against the cabin door, blocking it. Laying down, he closed his eyes. Sleep was frustratingly quick in coming.

Nallmian found himself, as was often the case, running down a brightly colored, off-scale replica of one of the passageways in Whitefire's castle. He was in a great hurry, but didn't remember why. There were doors everywhere, but none of them were marked. None of them had anything behind them that he would ever want to find, but if he didn't chose one, one would burst open and drag him in. A door called out to him, somehow impossible to resist despite his fear of it. He knew it was a trap, but he walked forward anyway, unable to resist, he put his paw on the doorknob, opened the door, walked through to the room behind it...

And screamed as he felt shards of glass begin to grow from within his body, ripping through muscle and then skin as they grew to the surface, expanding, bulging, slicing him as they expanded. His muscles and organs burned, his fur was slick with blood, he felt things inside him being ripped and torn and moved about. As the glass cut through flesh or shoved it aside, he felt something rising in him, and then he and the glass shattered into a million pieces....

And he was back in the hallway again, hurrying on some forgotten errand. Trying to find his way through, he saw a door. The door called out to him, somehow impossible to resist despite his fear of it. He knew it was a trap, but he walked forward anyway, unable to resist, he put his paw on the doorknob, opened the door. walked through to the room behind it...

And found himself standing in the middle of a field of vines covered in sickeningly gaudy flowers. He had just enough time to feel a moment's confusion before the vines began to shift, animated by some unknown force, and wrapped themselves around him, pulling him down, twining themselves around his body and squeezing, pressing harder and hard, bending his ribs, cutting off his breath. Nallmian gasped for air, but couldn't get a full breath. The vine squeezed harder and harder, as more tendrils grew out, squeezing tighter, thorns ripping his skin and vines forcing themselves at his mouth or nostrils, his vision swimming, the constriction growing more and more unbearable as his body was crushed by the plants...

And he was back in the hallway again, hurrying on some forgotten errand. Trying to find his way through, he saw a door. The door called out to him, somehow impossible to resist despite his fear of it. He knew it was a trap, but he walked forward anyway, unable to resist, he put his paw on the doorknob, opened the door, and found another torment. This happened again and again, as some variant of it happened almost every time he slept. Sometimes he uncorked bottles or opened books or climbed ladders instead of opening doors, but the basic pattern was the same. An inescapable maze, with awful torments around every corner. Sometimes he burst into flames, sometimes awful creatures without names devoured him, there were many variations. These were the times when an active imagination was a horrible thing.

Finally, after going through many doors and dying, only to be alive and in the hallway to face another ordeal, Nallmian felt himself jolted awake by a particularly awful trial (something involving molten metal...), and came to suddenly, screaming a muffled scream that would have been audible throughout the ship if not for the improvised gag. As the terror and disorientation faded, Nallmian reached up and undid the gag, feeling wetness on one paw. Holding up his left paw, he saw that he had squeezed his fist so tightly that it had bled a little, although the bleeding had stopped. Climbing to his feet and staggering to the porthole, he was surprised to see how late in the next day it was. He had slept for a surprisingly long time. Still, at least that meant that with the help of the brown powder he could go awhile before his body forced him back into that hallways.

It was early the following afternoon when the ship finally docked, and Nallmian disembarked at the small port, which was obviously more a fishing village than a proper port. Still, it was enough to get cargo onto and off of ships, which was all Nallmian needed. Shouldering his rucksack, he walked through the small town, drawing numerous glances to his uniform, and to the Captain's Pendant he was now wearing openly. He had a sword, as always, although his main weapons were the throwing knives he wore across his chest. The stoat was a good enough swordsbeast to be a horde captain, but not a master by any means, and he had a strong preference for thrown or launched weapons. No use exposing oneself to unnecessary peril, was there? Eventually, he found his way to the local tavern, walking in and feeling conspicuously out of place amongst the rustics and fisherbeasts. However, he had barely walked in when a rat in a rough spun tunic set his drink down and walked up to him.

"You lookin' for the Professor's place?" The rat asked him. Nallmian kept a flat expression on his face despite the urge to grimace at the mixture of alcohol and rancid fish on the rat's breath.

"Yes. Are you the one showing me the way?"

"Well I ain't talkin' to you for me health, Captain." The rat sneered slightly at the title, curling back an oily lip to show discolored fangs. "Messenger bird came in and told that there'd be pay for whoever takes you to the Professor's wreck."

"Yes, yes, you will be paid. Now can we get on with it? I'm behind schedule as it is." Nallmian said impatiently, deciding that he was glad this rat would not be with him for long and wondering if he could get away with hurling a knife into the rodent's back as soon as they parted ways. No, he decided, better not risk it when he might be coming this way again.

"Right this way, my lord captain sir sire." The rat drawled.

It was not a terribly long trek to the castle, although it certainly seemed longer, with that obnoxious rat and his tedious stories of drunken nights, dubious females and general stupidity. A certain amount of all these things certainly happened in the horde, but this rat and his friends were in another league entirely. Nallmian mostly kept silent during the trip, not wishing to deal with the rat any more than necessary, and trying to block out the rat's babbling as much as he could.

Finally, the castle itself came into view. Having come from a castle himself, Nallmian didn't not feel quite as awed as the locals probably did, but he could still definitely respect the effort that would have gone into designing and building a structure such as this. All castles were a mixture of home and fortress, and given the relative lack of hordes of armed soldiers bustling about, Nallmian guessed that this particular castle fell more towards the home side of the spectrum. Once they drew near to the castle, the rat stopped.  
"I did me share, where's m'pay?" The rat demanded, glancing at the castle somewhat uneasily.

"Why, Sir Rat, you mean you'd abandon me, a lonely little stoat far from home, to face the wind and the elements and the..."

"Stuff it, stoat."

"Some escort you are. Not going to walk me to the door, are you?" Nallmian said sardonically. The stoat gave a somewhat exaggerated pout, lip trembling and eyes widening expressively as his voice went up a bit "W--was it my fur, what I-I'm wearing, the play, the dinner...."

"I mean it, ya blockhead. Pay up, so as I don't have to get too close to that castle. There's something funny about that place, aye, and all who're in it."

"Funny? In what way?" Nallmian said, serious again. The papers Lord Whitefire had left him had been surprisingly, frustratingly vague. In fact, Nallmian had been very puzzled about the uselessness of most of the documents. Lord Whitefire could write very well when he wanted to, not like the imprecise, meandering paragraphs that Nallmian had quickly lost patience for. The stoat reached into a leather bag and produced the rat's promised pay, plus a few coins extra.

"I don' wanna talk about it too much. Let's just say that I've seen a couple o' the servants, and they're not like normal beasts. They're like...like fish."

"Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"No, no, I mean their eyes. Nothin' there. Like they're made of glass."

Nallmian's ear twitched at the reference to glass, a fragment of the dream coming back to him before he willed it away. "I see. Well thank you. You've been...very helpful." Nallmian turned to go, but then paused. The rat was an irritating creature, but he was not familiar with the area and it might not hurt to have a local contact. He turned, and produced two more of the bronze coins. "What was your name again, rat?"

"Brownfang, they calls me Brownfang."

The stoat handed the rat the coins. "Keep an ear to the ground Brownfang. If I have to get out of here in a hurry, or need to check up on something in the village, I might need your help again. I'm Nallmian, by the way."

"Hmm, maybe you're not so bad after all, Captain Stoat." The rat glanced at the castle again. "I'm gettin' out of here, don' want them to get too good a glance o' me." Nallmian nodded, and Brownfang left quite speedily, happy at the unexpected pay, but not sufficiently to negate his obvious wariness about the castle. Nallmian paused, then reached towards another pouch were he kept a small amount of the brown powder for quick access. He slipped a bit of it under his tongue, holding it there for a few moments before swallowing it. It had a bitter, slightly sour taste to it, but Nallmian didn't care because as he resumed walking to the castle his limbs felt just a bit lighter, and the fatigue from the trek to the castle with the heavy rucksack seemed a bit more distant. By the time he reached the drawbridge, Nallmian was feeling quite chipper.

Reaching the portcullis, Nallmian was surprised at how quickly his presence was noted. A slot on the gate behind the portcullis opened, and two dull, rather lifeless looking eyes stared out at him. Something about the way they stared was somewhat disconcerting.

"Please state your name and business at the residence of Professor Falliss." The voice was quiet, not unpleasant but very dry.

"Captain Nallmian, of the Red Ember Horde. I am Lord Whitefire's representative."

"Your are not Lord Whitefire."

"No, I'm his representative."

"You are not Lord Whitefire."

"Lord Whitefire can't be here due to a prior obligation. He sent me to conduct his business for him."

"You are not Lord Whitefire."

"I KNOW THAT! No, I'm not Lord Whitefire, but I am his chosen representative. And I have this letter to prove it." Nallmian held the rolled up letter to the slot, and a paw took it. The slot closed. Nallmian waited for a moment. Nothing happened. He waited some more, and began to frown. He knocked again.

"Excuse me, are you still there? I am Lord Whitefire's representative and I'm beginning to feel like I'm speaking the wrong--" Suddenly the portcullis was raised and the gate opened, allowing Nallmian access to the castle. Nallmian paused a moment before walking in. He didn't like just walking into strange doors, after so many nights dreaming nightmares of them. But duty called. Nallmian took a deep breath and walked through. The dull eyed gatekeeper turned out to be a squirrel. Nallmian remembered the squirrel archers of the Freedom's Lances, so feared by the hordebeasts, and couldn't help but smile just a bit.

"It is in order, Captain Nallmian." The squirrel said. "Welcome to the castle. Please allow me to escort you to your quarters." Nallmian studied the squirrel for a moment. What made him like that? Was it training? Personality? Illness? Or maybe it had to do with the secret Lord Whitefire had sent him after. Nallmian was intrigued, but questioning the blank eyed squirrel seemed likely to be a totally unproductive waste of time. Oh well, time for that later.

"Lead the way." The stoat said, walking further into the castle. Behind him, he heard the sound of the gate and portcullis moving back to their positions, and then the rattle of chains as the drawbridge was raised, shutting off the castle from the outside world.


	14. Get Acquainted With This Place

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 12. ****Get Acquainted With This Place  
**

_by Flynn  
_

"Over there are is our Armoury, which boasts a collection of both unusual and exotic weaponry. The Professor has spent considerable resources and time into gathering these pieces from distant lands. As such, he requests that no beast remove any article contained in that room. Now to your left, is the dining hall, where I surmise you and the rest of the guests will partake of dinner with Master Faliss…? "

Flynn was being given the grand tour of the Main Floor by one of the servants. An odd fellow really, this servant was a Ferret unflinchingly devoid of personality and completely subservient._ It was a curious thing that this Faliss would entrust to vermin creatures to care of his manor. Mayhap he was confident enough in his abilities to keep these foul creatures in check. After all, the Professor clearly employed woodlanders too. At the very least, this vermin was cordial enough, even 'civilized'._

"Here, is the ballroom where on occasion, the Master hosts dances for his guests. These frescoes on the wall, are as you can see, have weathered seasons beyond number. The candle stick holders in the corners of each wall are made of the finest gold. See the chandelier on the ceiling? Each of these components was brought here individually from distant lands."

Flynn could not help but become grudgingly impressed. _Who was this Faliss character and where did he get these funds? Castles like these did not come cheap._ Flynn looked up to see what the ferret was pointing too. The chandelier, it looked impressive, but looking at it more closely, it was not bolted tight._ A proper blow to the side of it would send it crashing down. Hmm….the Candlestick Holder, looked nice, but where were the candles? There was something odd about this room, something off. The frescoes were no stranger in the least. Something just gave her a bad vibe from them, they looked too cold, too…..regal._

"Over here on my left, is the lounge. The professor has comfortably outfitted this room with chairs and couches fit for any beast. It is a fine place to relax and converse with other beasts. Ahead are the stairs to the second floor, I have not time to-day to spare in my duties to show you any other floor but this one. Regardless, I wish you to know the Professor offers all of his guest's free access to all the floors of his castle. Over on this side is the servant's quarters. It is the Professor's firm affidavit that under no circumstances must guests go into these quarters. It is the only room in the mansion that is not open to all beasts."

Flynn took that in stride, it was normal for such beasts to be concerned for the welfare of their servants. There was just one thing nagging her though, and it concerned the other guests. Where were they? She had not seen even one of them during her brief time at the castle. After this 'tour' was over, she must go and find the identity of these other guests. When her 'guide' turned around and headed for the center of the room, Flynn noticed something she hadn't noticed before. _The armoury had two entrances._

"Now onto the opposite end of this hall, this is where the guest rooms are. On your right side is the Old Master Bedroom. The professor only asks that no article in this room be touched, nor must anything be removed from its proper place. Other than this, there are no other restrictions concerning this room. The room next to it is your guest room. This shall be your accommodations for the length of your stay. As you can see, it is outfitted with every convenience a beast could wish for in his lodgings. There are other things I must attend to now, so please make your self comfortable."

So saying, the ferret went off to do his duties, leaving Flynn alone in her guest room. She decided to take this time alone to take in the layout of her room. A single bed was situated, in the center of the room; strangely it was one of these canopy beds, with poles on each end. There was a writing desk on the far left wall, with a chair pulled up close to it. On the left end was a tall mirror, about her height, placed next to the dresser. _In all, this was probably the layout of all the guest rooms._

Flynn immediately started assessing where the best place to hide weapons would be. She moved furniture around and checked for obscure hiding places as well. _Hide it in the desk? Bad idea; that was probably the first place anybeast would look. Behind the mirror? Under the bed? No, no, it was just too obvious. One of the poles holding up the canopy seemed to have a hole in it though. Incredibly this hole was at the very bottom of the pole, meaning it cold be used for hiding weapons._

Once Flynn was satisfied with the general defense of the room, she decided it was time to check the other rooms on her own now. If there were other guests, they were obviously on the higher floors. Mayhap she could seek them out later and judge which one was the guilty one. For now, she would check the obvious places where other guests might be.

The dining hall was empty._It had been foolish to assume that there would be guests here, with the arrival of dinnertime being still so far away._ Strangely, the lounge seemed to be empty too, if only recently so. _Someone had definitely been in this room after she had gone to her guest room._ The couch; had been sat on by some beast, bigger than a mouse at the least. She had not heard any noises or seen any other beast. _Whosoever it was, it was a master of stealth._

The beast was probably on the same floor as she was. Flynn felt confident that he had not left this floor at least. It was probably a servant, at least that's what Flynn hoped. She didn't like to think of a beast deliberately avoiding her. A beast like this, it was possible it was some kind of stalker, a beast out watching her. _Creepy. Well at least, it was now time to move on and check the weapons room._

Flynn carefully approached the weapons room, making sure to stick by the walls in case something off was to happen. Slowly, she entered through the southern entrance and scanned the room. _It seemed pretty safe, though for an arms closet, it had rather lax security._ Flynn immediately started analyzing the various weapons available.

There were swords of every description, on racks that were nailed to the wall. An entire section was given over to battle-axes, hammers and other such two handed weapons. Slings, throwing stars, bows and arrows and other such projectiles had their own extensive section as well. _This really was a large collection; it had obviously required much labor to bring it here._ There were suits of armor and shields in various sizes, seemingly fit for many different species. _Everything just seemed so...old, antiquated curious thing was, old through this armour was, it showed unmistakable signs of modern wear and tear. There was no question about it. This old armour had been worn recently._ Peering closer, Flynn noticed an even more curious fact. The crest on the shields had been (rather badly) scratched off. All that she could make of it was that the crest had been roughly the shape of a hexagon. (Odd really; why would any beast want to conceal an old crest?)

Over to the side Flynn could not believe she had almost missed that section while distracted by the projectiles. It was near the southern door that was why she had missed it. Over near the door, was a tidy collection of daggers, short swords, knives of all descriptions. Quickly, Flynn snatched up a recurved dagger that was fortunately, small enough to tuck away into a pouch hanging from her belt. _This would come in handy later, when the murderer was found. On second thought, it might be wiser to take two. One to hide away and one to keep on hand, just in case. _

Flynn was about to reach for another weapon when suddenly she heard a noise behind her. "Funny, you don't look very much like one of them, the servants I mean." Quickly, Flynn grabbed one of the daggers and turned around slowly, assuming a defensive stance. Over at the north entrance to the armoury, stood a stoat in what appeared to be military garb. _He did not appear to be armed, but he was standing right next to the swords. _

"Who are you?" Flynn asked, careful not to let her guard down. "Your clearly not a servant, so before I take drastic action. Maybe you could tell me why you have been stalking me?" The stoat looked slightly discomfited as if he had just heard something false. "I am one of the guests of this 'Faliss' character, as I presume you are. There are other guests already here as you're well aware. Some of them are 'vermin' like me, some aren't"

Flynn lowered her dagger just a fraction. _Wait one second, non-vermin beasts were here too as guests? This definitely complicated her search for the murderer._ "So you say," Flynn said cautiously, "Tell me why you been skulking about in the lounge behind my back."  
At this, the stoat laughed. "I don't know who you think is following you, crazy streamdog. There's been no other beast in that room since you passed by it the first time."


	15. Lovely Ladies

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 13. ****Lovely Ladies  
**

_by Desmond  
_

"Pardon me, sir, but are you feeling quite alright?"

Desmond spun around at the sound of a female voice, and was disappointed to find a rather unimpressive pine marten instead of a ravishingly beautiful squirrel maid. Needless to say, he found this to be an extreme letdown.

"No," he ground out. "I am not 'feeling alright,' thank you for your concern." She wasn't even wearing a dress! The squirrel fumed inwardly.

"Oh?" To Desmond's frustration, the marteness didn't seem to be put off by the hostility of his reply. In fact, she seemed to brighten considerably. "Could you elaborate, please? What sort of symptoms would you say you're experiencing?"

Desmond sighed. He was surrounded by blank-faced idiots – although, he realized, this one was anything but deadpan. Her face showed quite a bit of interest, in fact – perhaps she was new to the staff? She wasn't wearing a uniform like the others.

New or not, she was still acting like an idiot. Wasn't it obvious that he was in the prime of life?

"For one," he snapped, "I am suffering from a very annoying pine marten who seems to think I'm ill, which, I'm happy to inform you, I'm not. Second…" He stopped. Perhaps she could help him!

"See here," he said condescendingly, "I'm looking for Helena, but no one seems to know where she is. Do you have any idea where I might find her?"

The marten's face fell. "Oh." Her demeanor changed instantly, and she glared incredulously down her nose at Desmond. "Are you daft? Who in bloody 'gates is Helena? And how should I know where she is? Huh, it's not any of my business that you can't even keep track of one of your own. Unless she's…" The taller creature stopped quite abruptly, lost in a sudden thought.

Desmond's left eye twitched. "Helena," he growled, "Is the niece of the beast who invited me here - Falliss, I think his name was. Now, you don't seem to have worked here long, but I'm afraid I cannot excuse your utter lack of incompetence. I shall have to report you to… oh, whoever's in charge here!" He glared at her.

The marten's eyes narrowed, claws flexing in an out. "I'm sorry if you're confused," she grated, "but I certainly do not work under anybeast here, and I'll thank you to keep that in mind and hold your tongue, squirrel."

Desmond blinked. "You're not a servant?" He paused. "Then what are you doing here?"

Peering regally down at Desmond, the tall beast sniffed. "I was invited here by the Professor. Important business, you see. One of his servants is very ill and I was called in to attend to him."

"Ah," said Desmond, the condescension returning to his voice. "Then I suppose you weren't invited to the dinner party." That made sense. He couldn't imagine why anyone in their right mind would invite her to a party, when she had no social status at all, and her conversation was completely lacking of entertainment. She wasn't even pretty.

The marten blinked. "Dinner party?" The snarl was still present in her voice, but her eyes betrayed confusion. "What sort of nonsense is this?"

"Yes, well," said Desmond, smirking, "I was invited to dine with Professor Falliss himself, and his, ah, charming young niece."

"Oh really? How fascinating!" The healer smiled brightly. "My deepest condolences for Helena. Now, if you'll…" She trailed off as they heard footsteps coming toward them. A wildcat appeared around a corner in the hall and halted when she caught sight of them.

"Oh," she said.

Desmond gave her a half bow, inwardly sighing. Would he never find Helena? And how many less-than-pretty girls would he encounter before he did?

"Thrilled to meet you," he said without sincerity. "My name is Desmond."

The marten dipped her head courteously. "I am Biara Sable."

"I'm known as Kima." There was an awkward silence. Kima coughed hoarsely and asked, "So, what are you going to do with your lottery winnings?"

Desmond frowned. "Lottery?" he asked for both of them.

"Yes, lottery. What other reason..." Without warning, she snatched a pawkerchief from her pocket and sneezed into it. "'Scuse me. Wearing wet clothing in this weather wasn't the best idea."

"Oh!" In a trice, Biara was at the wildcat's side, positively beaming. "Let me help you with that! I happen to be a healer, you see," The marten said, buffing her claws modestly on the side of her cloak.

Desmond stopped listening. He could understand Biara's invitation – nothing unusual about calling in a healer, even on the same day you were planning a dinner party, but setting up a lottery at the same time? It simply didn't make sense. And there had certainly been no mention of it in his invitation…

The squirrel's eyes widened. A squirrelmaid had entered the hallway from the other end. A very pretty squirrelmaid, with cinnamon fur, deep brown eyes, and an incredible figure. Certainly this couldn't be Helena – not in that uniform – but, he mused, she would do nicely to pass the time. The male squirrel murmured, "Good day" to the Biara and Kima, not noticing that they had already excused themselves to care for Kima's cold, and strode down the hall toward the female.

She didn't glance at him. Her attention was riveted on the duster in her paw as she whisked it around the wall sconces. He smirked; a shy one.

"Hello, miss," he said casually, stopping a few feet away from her and bowing. She was stunning up close, her dark eyelashes accentuating the outline of her eyes. She even made the hideously plain uniform look good.

"Good day," she replied pleasantly enough, and brushed past him.

Desmond frowned. Her manner had not been flirtatious in the least; he hadn't been baited, he had been ignored. He stared at her retreating back for a moment, and then resolutely hurried after her. No use giving up before he began, after all.

The maid led him through intricately carved double doors, revealing an immense library beyond. Desmond was slightly dismayed by the hundreds of books, their titles all staring rudely at him and demanding to be read. He'd never much liked books, or reading either, for that matter; it was a waste of time.

Abruptly, the squirrelmaid whirled around to face him and queried expressionlessly, "May I help you?"

"I don't know," Desmond returned mischievously. "Can you?"

She blinked. "I… don't… understand," she said haltingly.

Naïve little thing, wasn't she, Desmond mused, beginning to be disturbed by her lack of expression. Still, she was too pretty to simply let her slip through his claws; if he had to educate her about a few little things, then so be it.

Flashing his most charming smile, he remarked, "Rather large castle this is – one could get quite lonely here. I could do with a little… companionship."

She nodded. "The other guests have all arrived," she informed him politely, her tone flat. "I'm sure you will be kept busy with them." She went back to dusting.

Desmond stared at her unfriendly back and tried one last time. "I'm sure none of them is as pretty as you."

She didn't pause from her work. "Thank you," she said – but her voice sounded as if the words meant nothing – as if nothing meant anything to her.

Chills crept up the back of the male squirrel's neck. He'd met girls who were ice cold before, but this was somehow different. She was… _lifeless._

"Yes, well," he muttered. "Goodbye."

She turned her dead stare back to him. "Goodbye," she intoned.

Desmond hurried out of the library faster than he'd gone in, her stare boring into the back of his head. He shuddered, stopping when he was out of her sight. There was something disturbing about this place; the servants were bad enough, with their lack of personality, but there was also the matter of everybeast he'd met having been invited for a different event, all of which were, apparently, set to happen on the same evening.

'The other guests have all arrived,' she'd said… Desmond strode toward the stairway nearest to his room. The steps led to a lower floor. After a moment's hesitation, he descended, deciding that down was as good as any direction to start in. He was going to find these other guests, and their reasons for coming, too. Already, it looked as though Falliss was either a beast who enjoyed running multiple projects at once, or who merely lied to entice visitors into coming.

Desmond didn't know which was the case, but if it turned out to be the latter, he intended to make Falliss very, very sorry for it.


	16. Error Message

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 14. Error Message****  
**

_by Nallmian  
_

Nallmian followed the flat-affected squirrel down the halls and up staircases, allowing himself to be impressed by the interior of the castle. The Professor was evidently possessed of both the taste and the wherewithal necessary to be a collector of various types of art. Nallmian was far from an art expert, with the decorations of Castle Whitefire consisting mostly of banners and tapestries, a few old busts or statues and the much cruder carvings chiseled into the walls or doors by bored hordebeasts, but he was worldly enough to know that the pieces he saw had been made by skilled, and probably expensive, artisans. There were also some respectable suits of armor, although Nallmian had always preferred mobility over armor. Lots of things could pierce armor or the gaps in it, but they couldn't hurt you if they couldn't hit you. The stoat did notice that it seemed in places that coats of arms or insignias had been censored out, some skillfully and some crudely, as though this had been done by multiple sets of paws over some time. All in all, the castle of Professor Falliss was much nicer than anything Nallmian had seen back home, although Nallmian couldn't help but feel that the comparison was a bit unfair--Professor Falliss presumably wasn't keeping a whole horde of vermin in the place, nor was he fighting off a local rebellion.

Going through the halls, Nallmian caught glimpses of other servants, who also had the same blank affect of his squirrel guide. There were both genders and all species represented amongst the staff, working together with a quiet unity of purpose that was too off-putting to be a heartwarming display of mutual purpose overcoming differences. The squirrel quickened his pace, and Nallmian quickened his own to keep up. Finally, they reached the door of a chamber on the third level of the castle.

"This will be your room during your stay in the Castle, Captain Nallmian. You will share this floor with Quincy of Salamandastron, Lady Rhea, of the same, and Miss Kima. They are also guests of the Professor, to be treated with full courtesy at all times. Your room will be your own, but please show respect to the castle, as it is a very distinguished building. Do not take things that do not belong to you. Be courteous at all times."

"And eat dinner before desert, take my medicine, cover my mouth when I sneeze...yes, I know all of these things." Nallmian could see that the squirrel wished to continue, but had questions of his own he wanted to ask. "Salamandastron...name's familiar, but I can't quite place it. What species did you say all these guests were?

"Quincy is a hare, Rhea is a badger, Kima is a cat, and Nallmian is a stoat."

Nallmian ears flattened, his paw shooting to his chest, grabbing one of his knives and holding it, ready to throw it. He glared at the squirrel, then glanced around quickly, hissing angrily at the squirrel. "What do you think you're playing at, you bloody idiot? Putting me, a stoat horde captain, on the same floor with a hare and a badger? Are you trying to start a battle here? Are you trying to get me killed, or get me to kill one of them, or just trying to royally mess with our heads?!? Whose stupid idea was this?"

"The Professor approved everything that we shall do. The Professor approves all, or it is not done in this house. Your cooperation is essential toy our continued presence. Please cooperate at all times." This statement was delivered without any sign of alarm or fear at Nallmian's sudden and very negative reaction, and without any defensiveness either at the stoat's accusatory tone.

Around Nallmian, several other servants had begun to gather. A weasel, a mouse, a hedgehog and a rat, all dressed in the same uniform, had noticed Nallmian's anger and begun to walk towards him, all displaying the same slow, calm, methodical gait and blank, staring appearance.  
"Please cooperate at all times." Said the weasel, also in an emotionless, flat tone of voice.

"Please cooperate at all times." Said the mouse, followed by the exact same delivery of the exact same statement from the hedgehog and rat.

"All right, your living dead act is really starting to get on my nerves. Let me explain this to you one more time: Badger plus hare times stoat plus cat equals REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD! I'm talking blood, gore, veins being ripped out by sharp teeth, snapping bones, arterial bleeding, IT'S AN INCREDIBLY BAD, VERY STUPID IDEA THAT'S GOING TO GET BEASTS KILLED!!!" Nallmian was aware that he was beginning to sound a little hysterical compared to the dully calm servants, but if anything there non responsiveness was riling him up even more "I MEAN, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU SLACKJAWED IDIOTS, ARE YOU JUST ABSOLUTE MORONS OR DO YOU GET YOUR KICKS OUT OF MESSING WITH BEASTS AND STARTING FIGHTS, OR ENJOY THE SIGHT OF BLOOD OR SOMETHING?!? Not that there's anything wrong with blood, since who doesn't enjoy watching a little of the red stuff every once in a while. I like a good scrape as much as the next vermin but not when it involves A HUGE, CRAZY BADGER WHOSE GOING TO GO LOONY AND PROBABLY KILL EVERYONE IN SIGHT BECAUSE YOU PUT THEM ACROSS THE HALL FROM A STOAT!!!" Nallmian's wide gestures, expressive eyes and increasingly shrill tone could not have been more lost on an audience if he had been venting to a brick wall. The servants merely blinked at him.

"Please cooperate at all times." The squirrel servant repeated, apparently not having listened to anything Nallmian had just said.

Nallmian's jaw clenched, and his eye twitched dangerously, but he managed to suppress the strong desire to plunge his knife through the squirrel's eye socket, realizing that as infuriating as the servants were he couldn't afford to retaliate in plain sight of everybody. For now he would have go ahead and agree to whatever they told him to do, for the sake of expediting his settling in. He didn't want the Professor to label him a trouble maker or throw him out of the castle. Later, though.......

"I'm sorry for my little outburst. I would never, ever question the dear sweet brilliant wonderful Professor's judgment in ignoring the basic facts of the universe. Lead the way, my dearest squirrel." Nallmian said in a slightly saccharine voice that apparently the squirrel mistook for sincere contrition. Apparently whatever made these servants act like animated dolls rendered them very bad at recognizing sarcasm. The other servants nodded pleasantly and began to disperse, returning to their tasks, as the squirrel opened the door and led Nallmian into the room.

"This shall be your accommodations for the length of your stay. As you can see, it is outfitted with every convenience a beast could wish for in his lodgings." The squirrel said. The squirrel produced a large bag. "For the safety and convenience of all guests, I will have to ask you to temporarily relinquish your weapons for the duration of your stay. These weapons will be kept and maintained by the staff during your stay, then returned to you upon your departure."

"You're leaving me. On a floor where a badger is staying. With no weapons. And you think that that is safe, sane, or in anyway not a terrible idea?" Nallmian said slowly, incredulously. The squirrel nodded. Nallmian sighed.

The stoat captain took off the throwing knives and bundled them into the bag, then did the same with his sword. "Alright. There. Now can--"

"All weapons must be relinquished. Please set down your bag for inspection." Nallmian scowled even more, but complied. The squirrel took another two throwing knives, plus a survival hatchet that wasn't even intended primarily as a weapon. The squirrel then proceeded to pat Nallmian down for weapons, and confiscated the dagger the stoat had hoped to keep hidden.

"Thank you for your cooperation, and have a pleasant stay at the Castle of Professor Falliss. There is still time before dinner, so you may explore the Castle as you wish, and use facilities that are open to guests. If you require assistance, approach any servant but do not enter the servants' quarters, as these are off limits. Please be certain to be on time for dinner, as the Professor wishes very much to meet all of his guests." The squirrel droned, eyes never losing their blank mien.

"Very well then. How many guests are there, by the way?"

"Nine others besides yourself, both woodlander and vermin alike. The Professor is a firm believer in egalitarianism between species."

"I see." Nallmian paused. "How do you and the others feel about all these strange beasts wandering around in your home."

"I fail to understand. Please restate your query." Indeed, the squirrel looked as blank as always."

"Do you like having company, or is it any trouble to deal with so many beasts."

"Fulfilling the Professor's commands is our central purpose. The central purpose exceeds all things."

"How does he get you to act with such unity? I'm a horde captain and I can't figure out how he trains you so well. Doesn't it get difficult keeping your face and voice so unnaturally flat?"

"I fail to understand, Please restate your query."

"Never mind. And another thing--how do you get the woodlanders and the vermin working together so well? My warlord's as much a merchant as a warrior, always trying to get some joint commerce going. How do you do it?"

"I fail to understand. Please--"

"Restate my query." Nallmian sighed. "Never mind. Forget I asked. Maybe I'll go find someone to talk to amongst the guests."

"Will that be all sir?"

"Yes, it looks like it has to be."

"Welcome to the castle, sir. Enjoy your stay." The squirrel gave a curt, precise bow and exited the room, leaving Nallmian alone.

The stoat sighed, looking around the room. It certainly was comfortable and well appointed, much better than his quarters at Castle Whitefire. Every inch of it was clean, the bed was large and comfortable, and the furniture tidy and well made. There was none of the dust and grime that Nallmian had come to associate with castles. Still, the thought of a badger and a hare so close was enough to make Nallmian wish desperately to be elsewhere. He pondered his options. Perhaps there was a more docile woodlander on another floor who could be persuaded, paid or intimidated into swtiching rooms. Maybe the cat would be enough of a fighter to provide some deterrent. The best chance he had was that the badger and hare would feel honor-bound not to initiate violence in someone else's home, or at least that there business here was urgent enough that they wouldn't risk expulsion. Which made the stoat wonder: what was everyone else's business here? He had been under the impression that the Professor was planning on bargaining over several useful pieces of weaponry or technology, including the one he had been sent to acquire. Could the badger and the hare be here to acquire the same thing? The squirrel had said they were both from Salamandastron...SALAMANDASTRON! Nallmian's eyes widened as he remembered exactly where he had heard that name before. This was even worse than he had thought....

The stoat began to unpack. Curiously, the squirrel had failed to confiscate the small shovel he had brought with him in case his overland treck had been too long. It could be used as a weapon in an emergency, especially against a creature his size or smaller, but it's thin woden shaft would not hold up under too much force, and it was not heavy enough to be seriously dangerous to a skilled warrior, especially one larger or stronger than he was. And he had an eating knife in his mess kit, but that wasn't much use either. Again, it could be used as a makeshift weapon against someone of comparable size and minor to moderate skill, but against a skilled or well armed enemy it would be of little use. The knife couldn't be thrown well, and he did not want to get nearly as close to the badger as he would have to to use it. He glanced around the room. He could break of a chair leg or other piece of a wood to make a crude stake or spear, but he couldn't just go about smashing the furniture unless there was an actual threat, in which case there would be little time. The candlestick looked promising, but its relatively soft pewter would bend after two or three blows. Nallmian sighed and plopped down in the chair. He was in a real bind, situated so close to such a dangerous creature with no real weapon. He had to get a weapon of some kind! The squirrel had taken him past an armory, maybe he could get in there. First, though...

Nallmian unpacked some of his belongings, putting clothes in the provided chest and other articles on the desk. He then took out the wooden box that held the precious eyeopener powder. He had felt his pulse accelerate when the squirrel touched it, terrified that the servant would confiscate or spill it. Luckily it had been put back in place. The stoat slipped a small amount into his mouth, waiting a few moments for the energy to flow through him. He really, really needed the eyeopener powder. After taking it, the badger didn't see quite as threatening, his visceral fear started to dilute. Viscerally he felt like he could take on a badger, maybe even win...but no, his brain said, reason striving with the jolt from the light brown stimulant. No, that was a ridiculous, suicidal idea, even with all the eyeopener in the world. That was the one drawback. The burst of energy from the powder came with an increase in aggression and a decrease in fear that was usually helpful, but in this case was not nearly as desireable. No two ways about it, he had to get a weapon, and he had to do it now.

Opening the pouch with his portable supply of the powder, Nallmian refilled it, then closed the box. It was a fairly large pouch, and very sturdy, but Nallmian still worried about the safety of the main box. Pondering where to hide it, he went to the chest, opened it, and put it under his clothes, then proceeded to take out a bag of fishhooks from his rucksack, and sprinkle them amongst and between the clothes. It wasn't a perfect boobytrap, but maybe enough to give a painful deterrent to a casual searcher or would be thief. Closing the chest, he wished very much that he had brought a lock of some kind, and kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Heading towards the door, he paused and contemplated taking the shovel in case he ran into the badger or hare on the stairs, but quickly dismissed the idea. That would look ridiculous, and would probably only get his one even slightly plausible weapon confiscated. The stoat left the shovel in place and walked out the door to the chamber.

Haeading down the stairs, the stoat finally located the armory. To his surprise and relief, it was not locked. Opening the door, he walked in, boots making a little bit of noise against the floor. It was truly a magnificent armory, easily the equal of the one in Castle Whitefire. There were walls of swords, of knives, of axes and other weapons, with many variations of style and of purpose, including some clearly exotic or foreign weapons. However, Nallmian was unable to peruse further because at that instant he saw that he had company, an athletic looking otter in fairly typical garb studying the daggers. He saw the otter tense slightly, and realized that he had been heard.

"Funny, you don't look very much like one of them, the servants I mean." The otter, who turned out to be female, spun around quickly and dropped into a knife-fighting stance much too practiced for this otter to be anything but an experienced warrior. Nallmian began to reach for where his throwing daggers would be, only to realize he didn't have them. Luckily, that wasn't a problem. The otter was not holding her dagger to throw it, and he was standing right next to a rack full of swords.

"Who are you?" The female otter demanded in a harsh tone. "You're clearly not a servant, so before I take drastic action, maybe you can tell me why you've been stalking me?"

Nallmian raised an eyebrow. Apparently he wasn't the only one who found this castle to be thoroughly unsettling. Even given his somewhat low opinion of woodlander mental stability and restraint, he didn't really blame the otter for being on alert. "I am one of the guests of this 'Faliss' character, as I presume you are. There are other guests already here as you're well aware. Some of them are 'vermin' like me, some aren't"

The otter looked surprised by this information, and seemed slightly uncertain how to proceed. "So you say..." The otter replied guardedly, looking tense but slightly less inclined to fight, which suited Nallmian just fine. "Tell me why you been skulking around in the lounge behind my back."

"I don't know who you think is following you, crazy streamdog. There's been no other beast in that room since you passed by it the first time." Nallmian replied, unable to resist a short laugh at the otter's paranoia. Being spooked by the castle was one thing. Lobbing ridiculous accusations at him was another.

At this, the otter looked slightly confused, but also a bit angrier. "Don't lie to me vermin, I know what I heard. I know your kind inside and out. What were you doing following me?"

"Clean out your ears, riverpup, I have much better things to do than follow you around." The stoat shook his head. "And tell me, who exactly thought that it was a good idea to send a negotiator or buyer who's so paranoid she thinks the other buyers are focused exclusively on her and not on their own deals. We're probably not even after the same item."

At this the female otter looked genuinely puzzled. "Buyers? Deals? Items? What are you jabbering about, stoat? I'm not here to buy anything. I'm here to make sure that there's justice done for a dirty murder that your kind did to mine." Her demeanor shifted from puzzled to belligerent with that statement, and Nallmian moved closer to the swords, eyes chosing exactly the one to grab if she rushed him.

"What I mean, streamdog, is that I'm here to buy something for my boss, who is too busy to come running all the way out here. and leave all the other things he has to deal with unattended. The good Professor has some weapons, some information, and some other things on his paws, and we're all here to buy them from him, or arrange whatever other deals he might find acceptable."

"Your warlord or slaver can't leave innocents alone long enough to buy his own tools of death, so he sends you up to do it for him?"

"Lord Whitefire is a ruler who actually means to make something of the territory he inherited, unlike your pathetic tribal chieftains. What does your skipper do with his power? Regulate the recipe for that soup you creatures are so fond of? Sign treaties with the fish?" Nallmian sneered. "But you creatures have never been a particularly productive lot. You can chuck a spear or a rock pretty well, I'll hand you that, but other than that you mostly act like drunken kits!"

The female otter snarled at the Skipper reference. "I'll tell you what my holt's Skipper did, stoat. He did what a Skipper's supposed to do, patrol his lands, keep creatures safe, make sure our young ones can grow up without blades hovering over their heads or chains around their necks. He kept us safe and happy for a long time. But you just couldn't leave us be, a bunch of your types pop up and ambush him, kill him before he can fight you fairly. Now I'm here to find the slime who murdered him and make 'em pay." Her snarl tightened, as did her grip on the dagger. "And I'm startin' to wonder if it might not be you."

"It's not." Nallmian said. "The fact that you don't react to the name of Whitefire or to my uniform, the fact that you think I could have just hiked to the castle over land...I'm not from anywhere around this castle, I had to take a ship to get here, or it would have been weeks worth of trecking. And what makes you think the murderer is here, anyway?"

"The moles told me, right as I found his body, and moles don't lie They said he would be buried, and it was true. I believe them about the killer, too. Even if they do sound and look a little off."

"The moles told you what?"

"Moles like the servants here said the killer was a guest here, that the professor knew and had invited, and that this way I could bring a nice slow death to the beast who took away one of the best creatures I'll ever know. The very best."

Nallmian paused, then looked at the otter incredulously. "Moles who act like the servants here showed up and told you they know who killed your Skipper, that the killer was here and that somehow the Professor already knew all this in advance, despite the fact that you had just found the body? Let's think about this for a minute. If you just found the body, how would the moles have been able to witness the killing, go back to the castle, tell the Professor about the killer, get his instructions, come back to the body right as you found it, and just tell you all of this but not tell you who the actual killer was? Why did you believe them? I wouldn't have. 'Gates, the moles sound like the most likely suspects." The stoat shook his head, then leered up at the otter.

"And besides, where have I heard this one before? Woodland hero gets killed by the big bad vermin, and his sister or daughter or squeeze goes off to avenge him. Where have I heard that....OH THAT'S RIGHT!" Nallmian gave a slightly foolish grin and smacked himself upside the forehead. "I know it because I'm usually the big bad vermin!" He smirked almost tauntingly at the female otter, before adding, more solemnly. "But not this time around. I'm not from anywhere near where you live, apparently. Besides…" The stoat paused. "Come to think of it, I actually wasn't an invited guest. And how did this Professor get our names anyway? I don't have to wonder, because he didn't get mine. But he got yours. And probably most everyone else's. This Professor is something else. I'd be careful how much trust you put in him. I know I will. Although…" He gestured with a smile towards the otter's knife. "It looks like you already know that."

The otter's eyes narrowed. "You have a convincing alibi for one murder. That just means you're low on the list, not that you aren't on it. Now I'm not sure exactly what's going on here. There's things around here that don't make much sense. Ten guests of different species, some of them being told completely different things which may or may not be lies. I don't plan on getting kicked out of here on account of your type before I figure it out and do what I came here for. You're not worth it, stoat. I'm not going to cause a scrap right now, if you don't." She lowered the knife almost completely, and relaxed somewhat out of her defensive stance. "But when things get back to normal, vermin, you better watch yourself."

Nallmian gave a slightly crooked smile. "Just like back home." He, too, moved away from the weapons and relaxed somewhat. "Now, if we're through with this little song and dance, I need to grab myself a couple of knives."

The female otter finished her own weapons selection, and began to move towards the exit, not threatening Nallmian but not taking her eyes off of him, nor completely lowering her guard. "Name's Flynn, by the way. Don't forget it." She saw him hesitate slightly, and rolled her eyes. "Come on stoat, we're all going to find out each others' names sooner or later. Might as well be sooner."

"Nallmian. Captain Nallmian." The stoat replied, likewise cautious but now convinced that any threat was mostly passed. He kept watching until Flynn made her exit, then began searching for a few good throwing knives. Alone in the armory, he muttered to himself. "Flynn…what happened, parents both wanted a male or something?" Making his selection, he hid several throwing knives either on his person or in the bags and pouches at his belt, then made his way out of the armory, checking to make sure nobody was waiting in ambush outside. Heading towards the stairs, he decided to go see if there was anybody else in the castle who might want to kill him. Maybe with luck he'd find a few potential allies, at the very least. There had to be normal vermin somewhere around here, didn't there?


	17. Three

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 15. Three****  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

"L…aaate?" he croaked.

The servant cast him that same blank-slate glance the squirrel had. "No, Mister Saveaux, you are not late. You arrived precisely when expected."

The newt let out a sigh punctuated with tiny gurgles.

_Oh, blessed relief! Thank the stars I am not arrived tardy._

The last thing Saveaux wanted to do was project a bad first impression. Knowing nothing of the professor, Fallis might very well be a shrewd, cynical creature who could be put off by the newt showing such signs of un-professionalism as being late to an appointment. This was more than likely untrue, Saveaux knew, but caution was key, especially when it was most difficult to explain oneself.

_Which causes me to ponder; does the professor know of my impairment?_

He suspected not. Saveaux had been invited to the castle due to a product of the hand and not the mouth. He supposed the vole could have observed him thereafter and taken notes. Still, that study would not have yielded sufficient information for a beast to deduce his near-mute status; Saveaux did not speak to the vole, let alone himself when he was alone. Nor had the newt seen the vole thereafter, which could discount entirely his observation theory.

The castle was of a taste more decadent than he believed would belong to a writer. With floor to ceiling tapestries, paintings adorning every other wall and small relief carvings upon each room's doors, it appeared more the palace of a privileged aristocrat than the dwelling of a humble scholar. Saveaux reasoned that his host could be both, although his Friend's lessons had taught him differently; the greatest writers and poets were, more often than not, beasts of the simple life. Skill could yield profits, yes, but Saveaux believed an artist would want to stay close to reality so as to maintain sincerity in his craft. The newt let out a vibrating grumble. He was beginning to doubt the Professor's integrity.

A staircase and a hall later and the servant mouse along with his newt charge arrived at a room situated directly opposite another bedroom. The room which the two entered was crafted with as much care as the rest of the castle. There was a bed as wide as two trees in the far right quadrant and a dresser to the left, with a mirror spanning the gap betwixt. Just off the room's center, sitting atop the left half of a rug, was a washbasin that could fit five Saveauxs, filled to the near-top with water.

"The staff have all been informed of your special needs." said the mouse, noticing the newt's surprised look. "Should you require any more water, do not hesitate to ask."

Saveaux shook his head. "Thhhanks…but..." He jabbed one of his fingers to the canteens nowhere near depleted.

"Nevertheless, do not hesitate to ask. It would be our pleasure. Dinner shall be served in a few hours. Until then, you are permitted to wander the grounds as you see fit. The castle is divided into three floors. This floor houses the museum and the library. The main floor…"

Frozen in time, Saveaux's ears ceased to function. The word library functioned as some ancient incantation, nullifying his senses, drawing his attention only to that word. The newt had time only for a quick bow and a wavering utterance of, "ThhhankKs!" before his body involuntarily shot out of the room.

He dashed off in one direction, then, realizing it was towards a dead end, contorted his body around to run the other.

_Oh rapture divine, that you, you Fortunes and Fates above have granted me this blessing; to not only be invited to demonstrate my literary prowess but also to have the privilege to sup from the table of knowledge once more! Oh, how I despaired that I might never set eye on neither book nor parchment nor words not borne of my mind again. That I might now convene again with my old friends of ink genuinely proves that-_

His sleek amphibian body collided with a broader, furrier, better-groomed one, projecting Saveaux back and to the floor with enough force to shake eyes from skull – he strongly suspected that the fall did and would periodically check them several more times before dinner. On shaken palms, he pushed himself up, running over toward his catapult. The newt offered his hand.

"Watch where you're going you filthy…whatever you are." the squirrel said, ignoring his outstretched fingers.

While the unfortunate beast got to his feet, regaining his posture, Saveaux strained his throat to apologize.

"So-ooOory!"

The squirrel cleared his throat. "I should think so. Were I not feeling so magnanimous, I would have demanded satisfaction from you and had you arrested like the…what exactly are you?"

Saveaux found it easier to speak once curiosity mingled with barely veiled horror drained most of the anger from the squirrel's voice. "Noooot."

The squirrel nodded as a father to a child asking a simple question. "Ah, newt I see. One of those…are you a servant?" he accused.

Saveaux shook his head, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. He meant to say "there's one over there" but what oozed from his mouth was something similar, yet devoid entirely of consonants. Nevertheless, the squirrel seemed to understand.

"I see. Then, why are you here? Surely the Professor would not select a beast like you to be the suitor to his beloved niece."

Saveaux blinked. "I hhhere…wrrrite."

The squirrel went silent for a time, an expression on his face akin to that of a beast who had just witnessed another proclaim excitedly that the sky was blue. "Right, you are here. But why are you here?"

"I hhhere…_wrrriiiitT_!" the newt moved his hand as though scribbling furiously.

For some unknown reason, the squirrel found this offensive. "Are you threatening me? I warn you, I can have you locked up at a snap of my claws!"

Saveaux smote his forehead, the action emitting a damp noise. After issuing forth a gurgling sigh, he repeated, "I HEEERE _WRRRRIIIT_!" gesturing slower so as not to appear to be pantomiming stabbing.

"I see…very well then…"

The squirrel brushed past Saveaux, taking no further notice of the newt. Although the amphibian was most sure the squirrel still did not fully comprehend, he decided not to press further and instead continue on into the library. There, at least, he could forget the stress of what had previously transpired and instead focus on sharpening his craft.

His mind found solace within the familiar confines of a book. Still, while his eyes wandered the clumps of ink, his mind attempted to decipher just what had happened. The squirrel appeared utterly oblivious to the true reason they were here, speaking of courting some previously unmentioned niece rather than submitting his personality for review. Neither had the mention of writing lit any flame of recognition; improper as his speech was, Saveaux supposed that at least it would have jogged the squirrel's memory.

_Perhaps, though it is difficult to conceive that one with an artist's heart would behave as such, The Professor has not divulged the true meaning of this gathering to the other guests. And yet, implausible though I thought it to be at first glance, when illuminated by the lamp of logic, the reasoning is perfectly coherent._

When approached by a stranger asking to observe his personality, more likely than not, the beast in question would refuse out of bashfulness. The right to privacy was, after all, sacred.

Saveaux thought of the journal he had defiled with the charcoal. The newt closed the book as if swatting a bothersome insect, replacing it upon the shelf with equal force. Taking a step to the side, he drew another book. The thought was shelved, replaced with something more immediate and pressing.

Perhaps stranger still than the squirrel being unaware of the novel was the library being nearly devoid of any information regarding the castle. Saveaux had devoured several smaller books before realizing that by dashing off to the library before the servant could finish explaining the castle's layout, he would be utterly lost should he roam the corridors without aid. As such, the newt focused on locating a book which might contain a map of some sort or otherwise general information on the castle, within the library. His quest had unearthed naught but miniscule mites of information on the castle concerning its proportions or small footnotes on the castle's history, which in and of themselves were quite vague. More troubling still was that, when at a passage which could conceivably contain a map or thoroughly written description of the floors, the page or passage in question was blackened out, or otherwise removed, the small ridges of the page un-torn from the book's spine remaining as a foreboding clue. Discovering no information whatsoever would have been one strange matter, but only minor in nature. Yet, finding evidence of information, then finding that the information had been censored….

Saveaux suddenly felt light headed.

_Now, 'tis best to retain a level head. Reclusiveness may often give rise to eccentricity. Alterations to books, why, could merely be the manifest of such a change._

But what of the pattern? Were the tomes filled throughout with notes, even marks pointing out improper grammar or poor diction, as I did with the old journal, were that the case, eccentricity would surely be the culprit. Even, goodness forbid, should the culprit be more than the extreme personality of a lonely beast…should it be madness, books would be altered in a haphazard manner, with no connecting information. That each passage deleted shared similar subject matter…

All evidence seemed to indicate one ultimate fact, yet that one fact was so implausible that it may as well have not been as such. Or rather, perhaps it only felt implausible, as Saveaux would later hypothesize. He saw in this mysterious professor a kindred spirit, some beast with a similar mind to his; how long since he had been given that kind of luxury. In lieu of that, he couldn't accept what the censored pages were telling him. Depravity again would lead to his downfall.

Steps as quiet as the creeping of a moth barely resonated throughout the library. After shelving another book, the newt crept toward the disturbance. Unsettled as he was by the missing information and what his mind had made of it, Saveaux moved at a cautious pace, his feet as an owl's wing beats in the twilight. He was reminded of the night of the journal and the vole and the charcoal as he slid along, back pressed up against the bookshelves. Thief's eyes peered around the corner.

Saveaux relaxed. The new arrival hadn't noticed him. Moreover, said beast appeared to be perusing the volumes along the shelves rather than hunting for him. By the creature's stance and features, the newt supposed it to be another guest; all of the servants moved more deftly, expressionless.

"H-hhalooo!" said the newt. He could feel the muscles in his throat grinding together like the cogs of an old machine.

The beast turned, revealing itself to be a marten. "Hello." said the marten, revealing itself to be female. Though her glance didn't hold the alarm which the squirrel's had, there were the makings of a question upon the marten's features.

"No-oo-T." Saveaux answered in anticipation.

"I gathered that, yes."

She strode over to him. So, it was not his species in question. Saveaux resisted the urge to wipe the back of his hand across his brow, partially to break an unnecessary habit, partially so as not to embarrass himself. Still, her face held a question.

"I'm Biara. What's your name?"

The newt swallowed in preparation. "Saaaaahh-vooohhh." he strained.

The marten nodded, question becoming intrigue. "Savoh, you sound like you have a sore throat. Here, let me take a look."

Before he could properly answer, Biara's paws had carefully begun to pry open his mouth. Keeping calm in order to remain uninjured, Saveaux began to protest. His words, however, became naught but babble.

"You're fine; I'm a professional, you know." Biara responded. Saveaux could sense a speck of frustration in her voice.

Without warning, the marten's paws let go of his jaws, coming to rest folded at her chest until the right lifted up to caress her chin in thought.

"There's no inflammation; doesn't look like you're sick." she reported. "But there has to be a problem."

_If I could but only explain my dilemma,_ Saveaux lamented.

"Tell you what, I'll try to get you some hot tea. That usually works. Don't have much time for that now though, I'm afraid; I heard dinner's soon." Biara turned to leave, stopping and turning halfway down the aisle as thought she were attached to a tether.

"Say," said Biara, "You wouldn't have happened to have seen the Professor yet, have you? I've been looking for him." she rolled her eyes, "No beast around here wants to give me a straight answer."

Saveaux shook his head.

"Right then. See you at dinner. And I'll be sure to bring the tea." she said, cheery as a fairy, before getting ready to leave.

"Waai-T!"

Biara stopped again, pausing – conceivably to conceal her frustration – before turning about again to face the newt.

"Yes?"

"Yooou here…n-nnovel?" asked the newt.

"Just some light reading, nothing like that. Thought I'd try and find some medical reference books."

The newt shook his head. "Yooou hhhere…caa-stle…n-novel?"

Biara raised an eyebrow. "No, sorry. I'm here on work. There's a very sickly beast who needs attending to."

With that, the marten vanished. Saveaux decided to do likewise.

He was becoming more convinced of his theory that all of the other guests were ignorant as to why they were really here. First the squirrel, then Biara; neither of the two knew what he was talking about when Saveaux spoke of writing or the novel. The newt was ready to declare his theory fact and say no more on the subject so as not to arouse suspicions which might cause guests to leave, but he knew his theory was yet to become concrete.

_For two subjects with similar qualities, intriguing a match as they may be, are more than likely a coincidence only. Three is the definitive number; in three similarities, we may discount coincidence almost entirely._

As his mind would not be quieted until he was sure, Saveaux decided to conclude his investigation by interviewing the last remaining occupant of his floor. The newt crossed the hall towards the room opposite his, hoping he would not have to look far for a third subject.

Standing in the doorway, Saveaux beheld a mousemaid staring about her room, eyes as wide and as criticizing as that of a small child. She appeared quite engrossed with her observation, prompting Saveaux to clear his throat. The maiden turned.

_Forgive me for intruding, fair blossom, but there is something of which I must be certain._

"So-sss-soo-sooooory."

"Oh, no trouble at all." she answered with a voice as aloof as her expression. Rather than shy away and return to surveying the room, she kept focused on the newt.

He gestured to his chest with his right hand, "Saaaah-voooooh," then pointed to her.

The maiden understood instantly. "Raine. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Saveaux." There lingered a pause in which neither spoke, although the newt's throat nervously gurgled. "Was there something which you needed?"

Saveaux pointed again to the mouse "W-why…h-hhere?"

"That's a good question." Raine directed her attention towards the ceiling. "I'm here to fix something. You?"

Saveaux shook his head. "I hhhere…wriiiitT."

"Oh. Interesting you should say that. That's sort of why I'm here- well, my problem's more like _re_-writing, actually. " She didn't turn her gaze from the ceiling, remaining focused there even after the newt bade a raspy goodbye and set out into the hall.

A third beast, the mouse, had not known of the novel either. His theory was proven. The newt's mind was quieted a great deal, relief washing over him stronger than it had when he had been informed he was not tardy or when he was told the vole was not cross at him for writing in the journal pages. Saveaux had drawn a link between the censored passages and the unaware guests; one of the reasons that the guests may not know why they were there could be the very same reason the pages were blackened or removed. Now that he knew it was innocent secrecy so as to preserve the novel, his body and mind felt a great deal lighter.

Which made him wonder why his next step caused a floor tile to sink downward.

Saveaux leaped back with shock. As a beast testing the temperatures of a pool with his toe, the newt gingerly placed a foot upon the offending tile once more. It did not sink nor had the tile risen from its lower position since he had trodden upon it. Intrigued, the newt began scouring the hall for some significant link: the door to his room, an end table with vase, the door to the library, a painting of a lake, the door to Raine's room, a painting of a door….

Saveaux stopped turning. His eyes were drawn to the last painting like a beggar to bread. Upon the wall not three inches away from the sunken tile was posted a painting of a door quite similar to the relief covered timbers he had seen throughout the castle. In the painting, behind the small crack visible between door and frame, a yellow light shone, casting an eerie shadow to clash with the welcoming, if unnatural, illumination. More intriguing still was that it was impossible to discern whether the door was closing or opening. The newt found himself entranced, both by the image as well as the many possible meanings behind it; a sign of hope, a prophecy of doom? A depiction of salvation; a portending of damnation? Or, perhaps, it was a symbol. He cast his glance down to the sunken tile. Perhaps it was a code. Saveaux took a step closer, bringing both feet to rest upon the tile.

Mayhaps the painting is sensitive to touch as well…

He stretched his hand out.

A bell echoed throughout the hall, causing the newt to turn about faster than a startled fly. A servant strode into the hall soon after, seeking Saveaux out with quick, efficient steps.

"Dinner is served, Mister Saveaux. This way,"

As he was lead away from the painting, Saveaux regularly cast looks back upon the painting. The closer he drew to the stair, the more the light portrayed within the artwork became foreboding. It shifted in tone, becoming more unnatural with each step. By the time he had reached the stair, the light was almost demonic, a hand of hellfire stretching out to envelope the room within the painting's borders. He felt his throat muscles painfully shift together as he swallowed, signaling him to moisten his parched throat. Drinking heavily from one of his canteens, Saveaux made a mental note not to cast eye on the painting before he retired for the night.


	18. The Gathering

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 16. The Gathering****  
**

_by Kima  
_

_What are the odds that of all the creatures living in Mossflower, a healer also managed to win the lottery? And just in time for me to catch a cold._

"Just relax and open your mouth nice and wide."

Kima looked uneasily at the marten. She had never been to a doctor before, and really wasn't sure what to expect. Doing her best to relax in the high-backed chair she was sitting in, the cat stretched open her mouth, white fangs glistening wetly.

"Now let's see what we have here." Biara leaned down and peered into her patient's maw. She stared for what Kima felt to be a very long time, making little hmms and ohs all the while.

Surely it didn't take this long to diagnose a cold? Kima was fairly certain that's all it was. It didn't _feel_ like anything worse, and she sure hoped it wasn't. It would be awful to miss the award ceremony because she had some kind of debilitating disease. But the longer the marten stared at her, the more Kima began to wonder if perhaps there really was something horribly wrong.

After several more moments, Biara stood up and rubbed the bridge of her snout. "Well, I do believe you just have a simple cold. And a fairly mild one, at that."

Kima sighed with relief. That was a weight off her chest. "So," she began somewhat hoarsely. Coughing, she cleared her throat and tried again. "So, um…What should I do?"

The marten grabbed what was presumably her healing satchel and began digging through it. "Well, for starters, don't wear wet clothing if you can help it."

Kima rolled her eyes. _Really? I never would have guessed!_ "Thanks, I'll try to remember that." Crossing her arms across her chest, she watched the marten, tail curling and uncurling around one of the chair legs. So far, this hadn't been a very productive self-tour of the castle. Well, that was really just an excuse she was using for her little excursion. The wildcat wasn't about to let on that she was really searching around for the lottery money.

_After all, surely it wouldn't hurt to just take a look at it all? I mean, it's not like I would _take_ any, but I'll never see that much gold in one place ever again. And, well, no one is going to miss a gold coin or two._

"Ah, here we are."

Kima's ears flicked forward at Biara's voice. The marten was holding up several little packets tied shut with pieces of string. The contents, visible through the thin material that held them, appeared to be a dull greenish-brown. They didn't resemble anything Kima had ever seen. "What, may I ask, are those?"

"This is a tea bag. Used for making herbal tea. Works wonders for colds and sore throats." The marten passed them to Kima, who sniffled a bit and took them. "Just drop one into a mug of hot water and let it steep for about a minute."

"I know how to make tea," Kima replied, feeling vaguely insulted. Tea was simple to make; she had just never used tea bags before. She sneezed into her pawkerchief and pocketed the tea bags. "Um, anything else I should do, Doc?"

"Just drink some tea and get some rest. I'm sure you'll feel better in no time."

"Well, thanks a lot." Hopping off the chair, Kima stood up. "I suppose I should freshen up before dinner." Before she could take a step, she felt a paw on her shoulder.

"Just a moment. There's still the matter of your payment."

"Payment? You're joking, right?" Kima looked at Biara and hesitated. There was a dangerous gleam there that certainly hadn't been there before. At the moment, the marten had the look of somebeast with a nonexistent sense of humor. Taking a small step away, Kima felt a sneeze coming on, but managed to stifle it. "I thought this was a free service!"

"Surely you know nothing in this life is free." Somehow, a scalpel had managed to worm its way into Biara's paw. It was just sitting there, not looking all that threatening – yet. "I just want a couple coins, is all. Have to make a living somehow."

"A couple coins…?" This wasn't good. Normally, such a payment would be no problem for Kima, but, unfortunately, she had given all her gold to Voley. Her guide hadn't seemed particularly thrilled about the gift, but he hadn't given it back, either. And this left Kima in a bit of a bind. She wasn't going to be receiving her prize money until later and…and hadn't this healer won the lottery, too?

Kima blinked at this new thought. _She's certainly not one of the servants. And if she's also won five thousand gold coins, what difference is one or two going to make?_ Indeed, a paltry pawful of gold paled when compared to a thousand pawfuls. "Do you really think you're going to need those extra couple coins after you get your winnings?"

It was Biara's turn to blink, and she did so several times. This seemed to soften the dangerous gleam, but it was replaced with a look of irritation. "Winnings? What are you talking about?"

The volley passed back to Kima. She blinked several times, and then several times more. If they weren't careful, this could escalate into a full-blown batting of eyelashes contest. "You know, _winnings_! The Mossflower Lottery and all that." The wildcat began waving her arms about to add emphasis, her pawkerchief fluttering about like a bed sheet in a windstorm. "You're getting five thousand gold coins, aren't you? That's why you came here, isn't it?"

Biara stared at Kima for a long moment. "No," she began. "It's not."

"Oh." Kima's arms dropped limply to her sides. "It's not? Then, why are you here?"

"Professor Falliss called me here to tend to one of his sick servants, if you must know."

Well. That changed things. "Oh, then, you're not…I mean, you didn't…I'm sorry! Um…Can I pay you back, then?"

The healer folded her arms and arched an eyebrow. "How soon?"

Kima thought for a moment. The award dinner was tonight wasn't it? Hadn't one of the servants mentioned that all the lottery winners would be here by tonight?

"I can pay you tomorrow." She glanced at the scalpel still in evidence, and swallowed somewhat nervously. "Is that all right? I mean, will you still be here tomorrow?"

"Yes, I should think so." Biara absently rubbed a thumb along the scalpel's blade. "I haven't even been to see the sick servant yet."

Kima grinned – although it wasn't all that convincing – and edged towards the door. "Well, now that _that's_ settled, I think I'll go try a cup of your herbal tea. Thanks for your help." She opened the door and looked over her shoulder. "I imagine I'll see you at dinner?" Without really waiting for a response – and it didn't sound as though Biara tried to say anything – Kima firmly closed the door. With a hop and a skip, she headed towards the second floor and the relative safety of her room. Her throat was beginning to develop an ache, and the exploration of the castle could wait.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kima poured the boiling water into a simple, ceramic mug and dropped in a tea bag. Both the water and the mug had been promptly provided upon request. Flopping onto her large bed, she watched as a brown tinge began to spread outwards into the water. It reminded her of the way rot spread through an apple. Shuddering at the thought, she closed her eyes while the tea steeped.

As she lay there, her thoughts wandered to her brief interactions with the other guests she had met. There were some things that just weren't adding up to any kind of agreeable answer. _The healer I can understand. It's certainly the season for sickness with all this accursed weather. It's conceivable that someone who didn't win the lottery was invited at the same time._

Raising her head, Kima glanced at the tea and decided it could do with a bit more time. _But there's also that squirrel. What was his name? Dustin? Dastard? Dickson? No, that's not it…_ She frowned, and her tail danced about the bed in irritation. This would bother her the rest of the evening if she couldn't remember. _Oh, wait! Desmo? Desmond? Desmond! Yes, that's it._ Her frown deepened into a scowl. That squirrel was _definitely_ not a servant. Why was it woodlanders who were always the rudest? He certainly didn't know anything about the lottery. _Or if he did, he did a great job of hiding it. So what's his role in all of this? Another chance guest?_

Kima doubted that. Maybe the Professor was just a very sociable beast, and two guests unassociated with the lottery really were just plain coincidence. But this all had the feeling of something larger – much larger.

A fit of coughing pounced, and it took several seconds to bring it under control. _Well, whatever the case, now's the time for some of this herbal tea._ Rolling up into a sitting position, Kima stared at her mug, the contents of which had by this time turned a rich, brown color that, surprisingly, looked fairly palatable.

She fished out the tea bag with a slender, silver spoon. Plopping the sopping wad unceremoniously onto the tray the mug and kettle had arrived on, the wildcat licked the spoon dry and took a sample taste of the tea. Almost immediately, she could feel her sinuses clear and her sore throat begin to dissipate. To top it off, the stuff actually tasted _good_. "Well, doesn't that just take the biscuit?" She stared at the liquid in wonder before taking a good, long gulp.

It wasn't long after that there came a knocking on her door. Feeling very much the part of a relaxed feline, she slid sanguinely off the bed and over to the wooden door. Pulling it wide open to reveal yet another blank-faced servant – this one a mouse – Kima cocked her head to the side and stared down at the woodlander with curiosity. "Yes?"

"Miss Kima." The mouse bowed low. "I have been sent to inform you that dinner will be beginning in several minutes, and to request that you make your way to the dining room in an orderly fashion."

Her head tilted to the other side. "Oh yes?"

"Yes. I must notify the other guests on this floor. Will you be able to find your way to the dining hall, or shall you be needing assistance?"

Kima's ears lowered. "I'll be able to find my way just fine, thank you."

"Very good." With another bow, the mouse shuffled away to the next door.

Kima watched the rodent for a moment before shaking her head and stepping out of her room. Aside from the dry clothing she now wore, there hadn't been anything in the room she needed. _And what clothing it is,_ she reflected as she made her way down the stairs. _Fit for a princess…well, perhaps a prince._ From the wardrobe that had been provided for her, she had decided on a nice, matching set of tunic and pants over the various dresses. Dresses were all well and good, but these ones were just so…_floofy._

_All frills and no function,_ the wildcat thought with an amused chuckle. _I can't imagine anybeast actually wanting to wear 'em._ Footpaws padding silently across the stone floors, it didn't take her long to reach the dining hall. And judging by noise coming from inside, she wasn't the first guest to arrive.

The dining hall didn't surprise Kima, but only because it matched the cold elegance of the rest of the castle. The room, itself, was about twice the length of her room, but appeared to be of similar width. Along the walls were mounted shields and swords, their metal buffed to a sheen that almost gave the impression they glowed in the light. Said light was provided by torches nestled snugly within their sconces here and there along the wall. There were also a single chandelier that hung majestically above the room, the numerous, flickering candles adding their own ambience.

Against the far wall was something else entirely that caught Kima's attention. It was what looked to be a sort of indoor balcony. Raised at least ten feet above the floor – if not more – it likely gave whoever stood there a bloated feeling of elevated importance. For now, though, it was clearly empty, and the feline's gaze was drawn to the table before her. From what she could see, there were exactly ten chairs surrounding it, two of which were occupied.

And both those occupants were staring straight at her. One was a newt. At least, Kima could only assume it was a newt. She had never actually seen one with her own eyes. Whatever the case, that gaze showed an intelligence – the newt almost seemed to be _analyzing_ her. On the other side of the table, an otter was also staring with a penetrating gaze, but this was different. This one had malice and suspicion oozing out the seams.

_Great atmosphere._ Coughing into a sleeve, Kima took a seat a bit removed from either of the other two. Smiling brightly, she looked at first the otter, then the newt. "Evening! I'm Kima."

The otter's brow furrowed as if she was mentally turning this new bit of information over and over in her mind, searching for some hidden meaning. Finally, she replied, tone flat. "I'm Flynn." At least it wasn't as lifeless as the servants.

"Saaaaahh-vooohhh."

_Well, it's a start._ "Nice to meet you, Flynn, Savoh."

And with that, an awkward silence fell between the three. Twiddling her thumbs, Kima stared at her plate – a very finely crafted plate, at that. Thankfully, it wasn't much longer before the other guests began to show up. One by one, they trickled in, taking their seats amongst rather awkward introductions.

Kima acknowledged Biara's arrival with a friendly nod, and Desmond's with a not-so-friendly nod. The arrival of a badger surprised and unnerved her, and those feelings were transmuted somewhat to the appearance of a stoat who looked as though he was very intimate with dirty deeds. The fact the badger took a seat right across from her, and the stoat sat down in the seat to Kima's immediate right, hardly helped matters. The cat didn't take much notice of the rather contemplative-looking hare, nor the mouse who seemed a bit…preoccupied. She did, however, take notice of the fox that sat down on the other side of her. He looked grumpy and irritated about something. But compared to the badger and stoat, the fox seemed downright cuddly.

"Hello, I'm Kima," she began cheerily, stifling a cough as she smiled at the fox.

"Sootpaws," was the muttered reply.

Any further conversation aspirations were cut short as a bell was rung, and a squirrel appeared at the end of the table nearest the door. The chatter around the table died away, and all eyes went to the squirrel.

"Good evening, honored guests. I am Jeremy, and on behalf of Professor Falliss, I thank you for traveling this long way to spend time in his castle. Unfortunately, the Professor cannot dine with you, but fear not. You shall be able to meet him come the end of dinner – a dinner which has been catered to meet the specific palates of each guest. And now, without further ado, allow us to treat you to the hospitality of Professor Falliss."

Jeremy bowed and shuffled out of the room, the bell was again rung, and servants streamed in bearing trays and platters and pitchers of the finest quality. Aromas filled the air, and Kima found herself having to swallow several times lest she begin to drool. She had eaten nothing but a biscuit all day. As if reminded of its plight, her stomach growled loudly, but even such a noise as that was drowned under the sound of resumed conversations and clattering silverware.

Her goblet was filled with damson wine, and her plate was soon loaded up with slices of meat, gravy, at least three different kinds of cheese, and still-steaming bread. After managing to take the edge off her hunger, Kima again tried to strike up conversation with the fox.

"So, what are you here for?"

Sootpaws didn't reply, occupied as he was with taking a very large bite of meat that resulted in juices dribbling into the fur on his chin.

Sighing, Kima glanced around the table at the assembled guests. It surprised her how closely packed together they all were. No chairs sat at the head or tail of the table; they were all seated on either side. It was practically impossible not to rub elbows with those right next to them.

And then the feline came to another startling realization. The guests had somehow or other divided themselves into two distinct groups. Across the table sat all the woodlanders, and on her side sat all the vermin – and Saveaux. Kima wasn't really sure whether newts were traditionally considered woodlanders or vermin. She imagined the latter, from stories she heard.

Taking another bite of meat, the wildcat gave Sootpaws up as a lost cause and turned to her other side to face the stoat. "Um," she began in spectacular fashion. "Hello, I don't believe we've met. I'm Kima."

The stoat looked aside at Kima, and she thought she might have seen – for a moment, at least – a glimmer of relief. Swallowing his mouthful, the stoat nodded formally. "Captain Nallmian."

"Well, nice to meet you, Captain." Kima glanced around the table. In doing so, she tipped a salt cellar, spilling some of its contents. It wasn't a large spill, by any means, but it was enough to make the cat gasp in dismay. _Oh no! Bad luck's the last thing I need!_ Quickly righting the bowl of salt, she salvaged what she could and tossed it swiftly over her left shoulder. _There, that ought to be good enough. But, just to be safe…_

Rapping her knuckles against the wooden tabletop, Kima turned back to Captain Nallmian with a sheepish smile. "So, are you here for the lottery?"


	19. Charming Company

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 17. Charming Company****  
**

_by Biara  
_

Since the fateful decision to become a healer, Biara had learned to deal with some decidedly unpleasant things. Unfortunately, vegetables didn't happen to be one of them.

The marten sniffed dubiously at the bowl of _something_ passed her way and mentally added it to the list of reasons why woodlanders were mad. Aside from her own medicinal herbs, Biara made it a rule to never trust anything green. With a smile that looked hopefully less forced than was felt, she passed it on to the stoat sitting beside her.

She paused a moment to ponder that. What was he doing here? And for that matter, she wouldn't mind asking that question to the other five beasts that she hadn't seen or heard about. Of the three she had seen, each one of them had a different idea of what Biara was supposed to be. Even more troublesome was the fact that two of the three had been sick. The healer furrowed her brow; no, not quite. Two of the three had been sick, and the third had been an obnoxious little boil, which didn't make him any better in her book. _Regardless._ Biara glared down ineffectually at her cutlery and clenched her paws tightly. One creature was understandable, but if the good Professor hoped to dump _all_ of his sickly beasts on her, then he would certainly regret it.

Biara looked up from her plate suddenly to see a tough-looking female otter glaring at her. If looks could kill, the marten would have been dead at least twice, and was already on the way to a third. She offered a tremulous smile. "Can I help you?"

"Why would I need help from a murderer?" The otter spat. Biara fiddled with her goblet, decidedly unsettled by the amount of hatred simmering in the other beast's gaze. She was used to mistrust from woodlanders, but this was something else entirely. The healer had no idea why this beast would be so angry with her in the first place. Biara was certain that she had never seen her before in her life. At least from what she could remember.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Biara said, her tail curling anxiously, "but I'm afraid you're mistaken. You see, I'm a healer, actually, so murdering isn't quite on my to-do list."

That was clearly not the response the otter had been expecting. "Don't talk nonsense, marten," she growled, although she couldn't quite hide her surprise. "You're not fooling anybeast. You call yourself a healer, but you're nothing more than a murderous, lying scum…and a hypocrite."

Now it was Biara's turn to look confused. "I'm sorry?" It took her a moment longer to realize that the otter had been referring to the half-cooked woodpigeon on her plate. _So that's why she was so upset?_ Biara relaxed somewhat, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. _Woodlanders._

The marten smiled cheerfully. "I see that you're enjoying your soup. A shame those poor shrimp will never see their families again."

The otter slammed her fist on the tabletop with such severity that the entire table shuddered, causing the fox seated further down to spill damson wine all over himself. "Think you're funny, don't you?" she hissed. "Just thank your lucky stars that this is a peaceful dinner, vermin, or I'd tear your mangy, louse-ridden hide apart."

"And you call her a hypocrite," muttered the hare seated beside the otter, shooting her a glare. She whipped around, not bothering to hide her shock at the hare's disgust. "How could you even say that? At a meeting of peace, no less! This beast hasn't done anything to you. For the claw's sake, she's a healer!"

"She's vermin." Surprise was quickly turning to anger. "Vermin don't heal, they only kill. You should know that! She'll only stab you in the back, take my word for it."

Biara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. As much as she would have appreciated being the topic of a heated debate, the healer did not particularly like the direction in which the conversation was headed. Luckily, the stoat sitting next to Biara cut in suddenly. "Mmm! Who knew murder could be so absolutely scrumptious?" Disregarding cutlery, he picked up a hunk of meat with his paws and gobbled it down noisily with a great deal of lip-smacking and bone-crunching. "This is the stuff! Scrnch! You beasts don't know what you're missing out on! Grnph!" The otter transferred her venomous gaze to the stoat, clenching her fork so tightly that it looked like it would break.

Juice dribbling down his chin, the stoat smiled wolfishly at the wide-eyed hare. "You sure you don't want any?" He skewered another large cut of meat with his knife and thrust it out. "Here, matey, all for you. This is the best piece, too, so don't be shy! The heart's nice and juicy from marinating in most of the blood, but there's still plenty of the stuff left inside!"

The hare's eyes bulged. He opened his mouth, but he could only splutter something incomprehensible before giving up, looking decidedly ill. Biara hastily grabbed her napkin and held it up to her face, shoulders shaking with a sudden fit of coughs to hide her laughter. The stoat shrugged, popping the heart into his mouth, sharp teeth flashing as he chewed. "Huh, suit yourself. That means more for me." Finished, he downed a goblet of cordial, wiping his lips with a paw. "Now that is what I call good eating. A beast would be crazy if he didn't want some of that. That one felt like it was still beating too!"

Biara pawed nervously at the bridge of her snout, as the stoat went on to eviscerate a bird's wing. Even though the heat was off her, she didn't particularly feel comfortable sitting across from a bloodthirsty otter who wanted her dead. Looking down the table, she saw a glowering badger, a fox who was still attempting to dry off his tunic with his napkin, and a mouse who was watching the proceedings with the slightest hint of amusement. And of course there was stuffy Desmond, wiping his lips fastidiously with his own pawkerchief and looking highly agitated. Biara smirked. _Looks like your charming Helena doesn't feel like seeing you after all._ And then there was Kima and Savoh.

The healer blinked. She had completely forgotten about the newt's tea. Excusing herself, the marten stood up and made her way to the other end of the table where the newt was seated. "Hello, Savoh!" she said cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

The little amphibian smiled back at her. "Haall-loooo!" Biara felt her own throat contract at the sound of the newt's fractured voice. The poor fellow.

"Don't worry, friend, we'll have you fit as a fiddle in no time!" Digging through her pouch, the marten soon came up with one of her tea-packets and handed it to the newt. Savoh regarded the tea curiously and then glanced back up at Biara in confusion. Holding back a sigh, she filled his cup with hot water, and realizing what to do, the newt gingerly dipped the tea bag inside. "Good. Now let that be for just a few moments so the tea can steep and then it will be ready."

The newt blinked gratefully. "Thhha..aaaannkk… yuuu."

"Of course," Biara said smugly, tail brushing her shins. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask!" She figured it was safe to assume that if the little creature didn't even know how to make tea properly, that he wouldn't be able to pay her either. _I suppose I can let him get away with it… once._

Biara regarded the dog fox sitting beside Savoh with a polite nod. The fox returned the favor briefly before returning to his food, muttering darkly to himself about a cold, damp cellar. Biara's tail curled; she would be seeing this one very soon. Next to the brooding fox, Kima was sipping from a bowl of hot soup, her tail curling itself into neat little coils behind her chair. "Hello Kima," Biara said, beaming down at the cat. "Are you feeling any better?"

The wildcat flashed a winning smile and lifted her mug. "Worlds better! Thanks for the tea, doc."

Biara dipped her head, "Not a problem. If you need more, or if the symptoms worsen, come to me." She made as if to walk away, but paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Oh, and I'm sure you won't forget your payment either." She strode off before Kima could respond, smiling to herself. That takes care of business for one night.

Sliding into her own chair, the marten was pleased to see that nobeast had been killed in her absence, although the otter glared at her and the hare was eating his food in sullen silence, pausing every so often to whisper something to the badger sitting beside him. _Charming company._ Biara took a bite from her woodpigeon, watching the odd-looking mousemaid at the far end of the table attempt to converse with Desmond, who looked as if he would rather be eating glass. The marten smiled thoughtfully as she took a long sip of cider from her goblet.

"So you're a healer?" Biara blinked, pleasant shard-filled thoughts interrupted by the stoat who had leaned in closer to her. "I used to dabble in the healing arts when I was younger. The name's Nallmian."

The marteness dipped her head. "Hello, Nallmian. My name is Biara. Thank you for the distraction earlier."

"It was my pleasure, really. I'd been looking for an opportunity to do that all evening. Did you see the look on that deadbeat otter's face? Priceless!" Biara nodded with a smile and turned back to her food. However, Nallmian pressed on. "I'm sure you've noticed that there's something decidedly strange going on. Ten beasts invited to dinner, all for different reasons. And that's not even mentioning the servants."

The marten's claws slid out of her pads; she rather wished that the stoat would leave her to dinner. "Aye, the whole thing is a touch odd. And I haven't even seen the beast I was sent to look after. Or the Professor."

"Exactly!" Nallmian's voice lowered, and he glanced around the table before returning to Biara. "I don't know about you, but I'm beginning to suspect that…."

But he never finished his sentence. In fact, a hush had fallen over the entire table. Thoroughly annoyed, Biara looked up to see that the stoat was gazing past her. She followed his gaze up towards the raised balcony... and Professor Falliss.


	20. A Beautiful Mind

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 18. A Beautiful Mind****  
**

_by Stonewall  
_

Agatha stood outside the dining room, watching as the guests entered. She mentally checked them off as they arrived. Saveaux, Desmond, Flynn, Kima, Quincy Tulep, Biara Sable, Captain Nallmian, Lady Rhea, Raine, and the fox who had indentified himself as Captain Javik (the rat had suspicions about the validity of this claim, but couldn't prove anything). That was all of them: the Professor's ten guests, exactly where they should be. So far, so good.

Jeremy arrived, and with a curt nod at Agatha, introduced himself to the guests and began dinner. Agatha was annoyed that the squirrel once again got to be front and center, while she was shunted to the background; but maybe, upon further thought, being as far away from the dining room after the Professor arrived might not be a bad idea. Secretly hoping that some harm would befall the head servant, the rat excused herself and made her way through the now deserted halls.

The gate room was occupied by two ferrets, who stood expectantly by the door, waiting for Agatha to arrive. The rat acknowledged the gate keepers silently; they had been briefed earlier in the day, and to repeat orders would be a waste of time. "Lock it," she ordered, and turned back down the hall.

The gate keepers went about their task with silence. Closing the door, one of them entered the gate house, working various levers and chains. With a heavy groan, the great portcullis hanging over both entrances lowered, barring both the draw bridge gate, as well as the door leading further into the castle. After this had been done, the other ferret operated a complicated sequence of locks, fixing the iron gates firmly in place. Unless either of the gate keepers decided to, there would be no entering the gate room now, from either the outside of the castle, or the inside.

The way out had been shut.

Rumor had dictated the Professor as an ancient creature, and reality seconded the motion. His head and neck seemed permanently arched, fixed into position from seasons of staring down at books. His stride was slow and methodical, the withered talons hard pressed to support his weight. A trail of ragged feathers, falling from battered wings, were left in his hobbling wake. It would be fair to say, at first glance, that the old barn owl was at death's door. His eyes, however, betrayed any illusions of complete decay. Hiding under a furrowed brow, they fixed onto every detail in their sight, calmly accumulating information to relay to the still sharp mind of Professor Falliss.

The aged bird slowly paced by his guests, subjecting each one to his penetrating stare. Like his servants, his face betrayed no sign of kindness or maliciousness; one got the impression that he was more concerned with analyzing the small party, rather than extending any warmth. Only once did his eyes reflect possible discontent after landing upon Nallmian. For one brief moment did Falliss appear to glare at the stoat before continuing towards the head of the table. Mechanically, Jeremy appeared at the owl's side, pulling out a chair to permit the Professor to wearily perch upon it.

"I apologize for my absence," said the Professor, in his deep, hoarse voice. "I simply had a few things to tend to prior to dinner. Work before pleasure, you understand." The owl turned his head to the side, a series of unpleasant popping noises commemorating the movement. "I'm pleased to were all able to make it," he added as he helped himself to a tray of shrimp conveniently nearby. If he was aware of the awkward silence which had marked his arrival, he didn't show it.

A small cough from Desmond broke the tension. "I take it that you are Professor Falliss?"

The barn owl finished swallowing his shrimp before answering. "I am. And you are Desmond, correct?"

With the appearance of his host, the squirrel seemed to be less on edge. "That is correct, sir. I suppose I should thank you for your hospitality, as well as inviting me to your dinner party. Although," he added quietly, as if this were a private conversation between the Professor and himself, "I'm not certain if your choice of company is exactly within my social standards." Biara rolled her eyes. Kima smirked.

Professor Falliss shrugged. "Ah, but I enjoy variety, Desmond. I find it makes things so much more enjoyable. Now, I do trust you are enjoying your stay regardless?"

The squirrel's expression soured slightly. "I would be, if you could clear up something rather irksome. As pleased as I am at making your acquaintance, your letter insinuated that you weren't the only one I would be making acquaintances with. Now, where is…"

"Excuse me for interrupting," said the Professor, "but could you pass me the bread, Kima?"

The cat seemed a little shocked at being referred to by name, but happily obliged. "There you are, sir. It's fine bread to, if I do say so myself!"

Falliss nodded in approval. "Good, good. I'll be sure to inform Marcel he's doing a good job. Again, I apologize for interrupting, but I've not had a bite all day, and I'm quite famished. I get so caught up in my work I often forget to obey my own needs." The owl looked over at Saveaux. "I trust you know of what I speak of, my well educated friend?"

Not wanting to display his speech impediment in front of his host, the newt nodded slowly, though his eyes contained suspicion.

Raine looked from Saveaux to the Professor. "How do you know he's well educated?" she wondered aloud. "He can barely talk." This earned the mouse a glare from the newt.

"I know a great many things, Raine," the owl replied. "I am a Professor, after all."

Raine wasn't content. "A Professor of what, exactly?"

"Pass the carrots please," Falliss requested. As the dish was passed, he turned his attention to the badger. "Lady Rhea," he greeted, "I've only just learned of Lord Morramel's death. I offer my condolences."

Rhea nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you."

The Professor continued. "I understand he went down with quite a fight. Truly a great badger lord."

Rather surly in tone, Rhea agreed. "He certainly was."

Having gotten the response he wanted, the owl again shifted his attention. "Of course, those of Salamandastron have always been renowned for their fighting prowess. Do you agree, Quincy?"

The hare snorted. "Renowned for fighting, but not for much else."

Falliss nodded understandingly. "Ah yes, I had forgotten about your stance on violence," he lied. "And do you hate your former comrades for pursuing a lifestyle you deplore?"

Quincy had to think about his answer. "I don't know about hate, but I'm not jolly well fond of so called 'friends' who turn their backs on you if you don't fancy getting yourself killed heroically."

"And do you miss your friends?"

"I miss when they were my friends. I don't believe I've had actual friends since I threw down my sword."

"So do you hate yourself?"

The hare blinked at the owl. "I beg your pardon? Why would I hate myself?"

The owl twisted his neck again. "Your loss of friends occurred strictly due to your own choices, meaning your misfortune is entirely of your own doing. That, and you've created a potential future for yourself of being remembered as a coward."

Quincy was both surprised and annoyed by this frank appraisal of his actions. "I didn't come here to be insulted."

The Professor raised a withered wing. "No offense intended, Mr. Tulep. I was merely trying to stimulate conversation."

Rhea came to her companion's defence. "Then perhaps you'd like to converse about a nagging issue. Quincy and myself were brought here under the impression that this castle was a base for either a slave resistance, or an interspecies retreat, depending on the story. And the longer I stay here, the less I believe it to be true."

"And what's more," Quincy added, pointing at the head servant, "that fellow, according to my message, is the one supposed to be in charge here."

Falliss turned to Jeremy, an amused expression on the owl's face. "Jeremy, have you been organizing slave resitances when I wasn't looking?"

Jeremy did not bat an eyelash. "I have not."

The Professor shrugged. "Then I don't know how to explain your story," he announced to the hare.

"Okay," Nallmian sighed angrily, "enough games. We all know that we were brought here for different reasons, and we all know that we've been had. So how about cutting the suspense and telling us plainly why we're here?"

Falliss stared icily at the stoat. "I have no idea why you are here, Captain Nallmian, as I can't recall inviting you."

The stoat growled as he was once again forced to reiterate his story. "Lord Whitefire, as amazing as it might seem, had better things to do then swinging by here. So he sent me in his stead. Now, did everyone get that?" he asked, looking around the table. "Because I'm getting really sick of repeating it. I've already had the divine pleasure of trying to explain it to the servants…"

"And how is the service?" asked the owl, changing the subject.

Desmond sniffed. "They're capable enough, but some of them wouldn't know the opportunity of a lifetime if it walked up and said hello." He refused to elaborate on what he meant.

"Well, I think they're nice," Kima piped up, her cheerfulness in stark contrast with the rest of the guests. "Oh, sure, they're a little on the dull side, but they're pretty good at their jobs. I certainly can't complain."

The Professor looked at the hitherto silent fox, who had been eating quite contentedly. "And what do you think, Captain... Javik, was it?"

Sootpaws choked on a potato, taken entirely off guard. "Who…? Oh right, that's me. The servants? Um…" He cleared his throat, and suddenly his voice became deeper and more authorative. "Well, they're not a bad lot, Falliss, but I think a few of their paws are too clean. Can't trust prissy-pawed beasts. If I had a week with them, why, I'd make proper soldiers out of them, all right." He sounded, to all within hearing range, like someone trying desperately to sound like an officer.

"Quite," was the only verbal response the fox received from the owl. Seeing that the bird was obviously not impressed, Sootpaws quietly went back to eating.

There was a short silence until Raine voiced her opinion. "They seem… sad."

Biara chuckled. "How can you tell?"

The mouse tilted her head to the side, staring at nothing. "I can't say, really. Maybe it's just because they're not happy. Maybe… well, never mind," she ended, anticlimatically.

Flynn was far more direct in her assessment. "It's not natural, that's what it is. Seeing woodlanders devoid of life like that. I don't care how good they are," she said, pointing at the Professor, "but you've made woodlanders into something they shouldn't be."

Nallmian sneered. "And the vermin servants, I suppose, are exactly what they should be?"

The otter laughed mirthlessly. "If it keeps them form killing innocent creatures, then I'd certainly say so!"

Nallmian and Biara started to rise to confront Flynn, when Rhea banged her paw on the table. "That's enough!" she barked, effectively taking control. She turned to the owl, who seemed gleeful at this exchange of emotions. "Professor Falliss," the badger started, "unless you want ten very angry beasts to take violent action very quickly, I suggest you start answering some questions."

The Professor, covered in self satisfied glory, nodded.

Rhea began. "Now, first things first. Is there, or is there not, a resistance against slavery that you are currently backing?"

"Maybe."

"Is there a sick servant in need of immediate attention?"

"Maybe."

"Is there a lottery which requires doling out?"

"Maybe."

"Oh this is ridiculous!" Desmond sighed. "Either you start giving actual answers, or I'm taking my leave."

The old owl laughed. "Taking your leave? Oh, my dear Desmond…" Controlling his mirth, the Professor turned serious. "Despite what you think, I am giving perfectly reasonable answers. There might be a book that needs writing. There might be an item of great use to Lord Whitefire. There might be a great amount of gold to be given out. Whether or not these events actually occur depends on how things carry out."

Sootpaws was visibly nervous. What had been a perfectly enjoyable dinner seemed to be taking a nasty turn. "I don't think I get it. You mean, you can't make up your mind, or what?"

Biara answered. "The more I hear, the more I think Professor Falliss has his mind very made up about something or rather. He certainly had his mind made up when he invited us all here." The marten leaned in. "How did you know what would intrigue us all enough to get us here? I've never met you in my life, and the rumors are that you haven't left this castle in seasons."

Fallis chuckled. He was having his moment of revealing just how clever he had been, and was enjoying it thoroughly. "The rumors are not wrong, Biara. Old age and tired wings aren't condusive to field research. But if you really want to know why I know so much about all of you, why not ask Saveaux? I'm certain he can answer."

All eyes turned to the newt, who didn't seem fond of the attention he was receiving. Trying to avert the staring eyes, Saveaux pondered the events leading up to his arrival. What had the Professor said in the letter? He had wanted the newt to come write, having read the amended journal, which had belonged to… "Vo-oohl? With bo-ook?"

Kima's eyes widened. "Say, I remember playing cards with a vole some time in the summer. Struck me as odd, seeing as woodlanders aren't known for gambling. Always had some book with him. I figured he was just checking the odds."

Biara nodded. "I remember treating a vole with blisters on his paws, who had complained he had been walking for some time. One of the less annoying woodlander I've met. He asked me a lot of questions about medecine." The marten raised an eyebrow, an ironic half smile emerging. "Naturally, I didn't think a thing of it at the time, but he was jotting down notes while we talked. I though he was simply recording my answers."

Quincy talked slowly, seemingly a tad frightened, as if realizing for the first time he had gotten into something bigger than he intended. "There was a vole visiting Salamandastron, not long after I had handed in my notice. I was black-balled by everyone else, even most visitors. But this vole, he kept talking to me, asking me things. I had wondered why he as so interested, but he never answered."

Nallmian smirked. "Well, that's the common denominator, at least. And now for the million coin question. Professor Falliss, would you do us all a favor and tell us why we're here?"

All attention was on the owl now, who was positively beaming. After seasons of solitude and isolation, he finally had a willing audience to explain his studies to. Lodged firmly in the spotlight, Professor Falliss began to talk.

"A very long time ago, when I was barely out of my egg, I knew I was a little different from my fellow birds. Oh, I participated in perfectly avian practices, and did perfectly avain things. But all the while I did it, I wouldn't help but wonder: why? How? Why were worms slimy when they lived in dry dirt? Why was the sky blue? Merely experiencing nature and the world wasn't good enough for me. No, I was compelled to understand it, to learn everything about this world and all within it.

"As soon as I was old enough, I began my research. I studied plants and trees, fidning why they wither, and how many different species there were. I examined rocks and canyons, their shapes and size, and how they were formed. I expanded my mind, broadened my horizions, and, if I may be unmodest, I believe I became the wisest creature in Mossflower and beyond.

"And yet, despite my learnedness, there was a subject that I couldn't decifer, that I could not commit a formula to. Something that changed every time it was examined: the living, sentient, thinking creature. I had not studied them greatly for some time, believing, very foolishly, that creatures were dull when compared to the grandness and power of nature. Why, I even bought into the theory that vermin were inherently evil, and the woodlander permanently good. And then I witnessed two events that changed my perceptions entirely.

"I was resting atop an evergreen, pondering the nature of cloud formations, when I saw, down below me, a fox and a mouse engaged in some kind of dispute. The fox was behaving aggressively, and the mouse was begging to be spared. In the end, the fox killed the mouse, took his possesions, and threw the body under a bush. This was not overly strange, and indeed fit into what I understood about creatures' morality. And yet not one hour later, I witnessed an almost exact duplication of the previous scene, with one important difference: this time, the aggressor was a hedgehog, and the victim a ferret. Despite the vermin's defenseless nature, the hedgehog slew him and walked off.

"And at that moment, something clicked. I had just seen two similar murders, in which both woodlander an vermin exchanged roles of killer and victim. They did not follow their prepordained roles, and their species didn't serve as a guideline for how they should act. It seemed that a woodlander could be a vermin, and a vermin could be a woodlander.

"So why, then, had a behavioural trend developed between the categories? Given that I had seemingly just shattered a long accepted theory, my interest into the formerly simple study of creatures increased tenfold. I began to observe all kinds of beasts and animals, from badgers to rats. Naturally, certain traits such as accents and morality were passed down from generation to generation. But after a great many seasons, I was shocked that I had yet to find one individual being exactly the same as another individual being!

"And yet, the question remained: if this individuality is possessed by all living things, then why and how did the idea of species-morality come into light? I had witnessed that both vermin and woodlander were capalbe of the same acts, and it stood to reason that at one point, must have contained similar social structure as well. So what had changed? Seeing as nothing had been preordained by fate, and lacking any scientific explanation, I came to the conclusion that somewhere in history, an event must have occurred to cause beasts to decide for themselves how they would act. It all boiled down to personal, individual choice as to how a being would behave. Vermin chose to be the way they are, and woodlander did the same thing. Considering I had spent much of my life applying formulas and rules to the world, finding something that could not only not be categorized but was spontaneous and ever changing, was positively remarkable!

"This discovery of choice and free will became an obsession. It opened an altogether new bracket of learning. Since no two creatures were the same, this meant that results and consequences of their choices would change every time. Imagine, a possible eternity of learning and observation, with millions of results and ideas, and no possibility of ending. My mind wanted to learn, even if there was no chance of accumulating it all.

"But alas, age had finally caught up with me, and I retired to this castle. With my days of travel behind me, I was terrified that I would never get to witness and study all that I had wanted, especially on how different beings make different choices in different situations. Oh, I had seen beasts make average, every day decisions, certainly. But that wasn't enough. I wanted to see what creatures would do when confronted with something fantastic, something life altering. I wanted to recreate the moment when species chose their alignments and started down different paths.

"And that was when I thought of it: my experiment. The more I planned it, the more I came to love the idea. It would take seasons to fully prepare for, but would doubtlessly be worth it. I would bring my sentient specimens into a controlled environment: this very castle, where I could watch their actions and choices and record with ease. Of course, it would be impossible to survey every individual in the world, so I had to settle on a small, round number of specimens. Say, ten creatures?"

He paused for a drink of water, as well as to see the reactions of his guests. Raine's eyes had widened, surprised; Rhea was stoically tying to retain her composure, though her breathing had become heavier; Quincy clasped his forehead, trying to convince himself that this wasn't happening; Desmond was visibly shaken; Flynn's eyes flashed with an inner fire; Kima seemed puzzled, trying to understand the owl's motivation; Sootpaws stared blankly, not comprehending; Biara looked at her host sidelong, trying to read his mind; Nallmian seemed torn between hatred of the owl, resentment at being tricked, and admiration for the cunning behind the plot; Saveaux was coldly glaring at Falliss, clawing at the nearby butter knife.

"You mean…" Raine stammered, "that this… all this… is just and experiment? You've turned us into nothing but a test study?!"

The Professor nodded. "I understand that this may seem immoral, but it is in the pursuit of knowledge. I trust you can all appreciate that."

"Trust!?" Flynn yelled. "Don't go talking about trust! We all trusted you, and what did you do? You decided to try out your bizarre little theories on us!"

Desmond stood. "I-I've heard enough," he declared, though with not a fraction of his former confidence. "I suggest we all leave at once."

Professor Falliss shook his head in dissapointment. "Desmond, Desmond, you don't honestly believe I would alert you of my plan just to have you run away? The gate room has been sealed off as per my orders. I assure you, there will be no leaving this castle until I say so."

"But why us?" Biara asked in exasperation. "You seem to have taken a great deal of time and effort to get us here, but why? You could have just kidnapped some of the nearby villagers!"

"Because you're interesting," Falliss explained. "All of you are here because I find you interesting. I'm very old, and have little time left on this world, so there is a good chance I will be able to do this experiment only once. I didn't want to do it with ordinary, run-of-the-mill creatures. I had to have beasts that piqued my curiosity. That's why my information gather was told to document only interesting creatures. You should all be flattered, really. I chose you as the cream of the crop."

Nallmian wasn't impressed. "Oh, I feel much better now."

Rhea took a deep breath. "I'm afraid to ask, but I suppose someone should. What is this life altering experience you have planned to subject us to?"

If owls could smile, Professor Fallis would have been grinning from ear to ear. "Only one of you will be permited to leave this castle, but not until the other nine are dead."

There was no long silence this time, for Saveaux had lept upon the table with the butter knife in his claw. He looked like a creature furious not only at having his life threatened, but having been tricked by a fellow scholar. "Villain!" he managed to condemn the owl. His aggressive stance was immediately seconded by Flynn and Nallmian, who had gotten out of their chairs and started towards the owl.

The Professor seemed more annoyed than anything. "Will you kindly sit down, all of you," he ordered, not in the least bit intimidated by this potentially violent turn. "I respect your intellegence, Saveaux. Now try to respect mine. Within this room, naturally hidden in various locations, are ten of my servants, each armed and ordered to fire should you approach me any further."

The trio stopped in their tracks, hatred plastered on their features.

"But… that doesn't make any sense!" Raine sputtered. "You can't mean that you went through all this trouble just so you could murder us?"

The Professor was bemused. "Me? Murder? Oh, Raine, you really don't get this at all, do you? I'm not going to murder anyone. My servant have been told not to murder anyone, unless otherwise told. No, no, the ones who will decide who lives and who dies will be you. All of you. How you do it is irrelevant, but not one of you will leave my castle until the others are dead."

Quincy gulped. "But suppose we don't kill one another, eh? What if we just live and let live?"

The owl chuckled. "Oh, I think there will be intentional killing sooner or later, Mr. Tulep. For if you don't take it into your own paws, I will order the death of one of you at random. And remember, I have no bias as to how this turns out, so my choice could be any one of you."

Hatred, frustration, fear, confusion: all of these and more stared at Professor Falliss through the faces of his guests, each rooted to the spot lest they be deemed as a threat by the servants. Delightful as this display of emotion was, the owl knew that he had overstayed his welcome. With a creak, the ancient bird hopped down from his chair. "Well, there you have it. You know the game, and you know the rules. I wish you all the best of luck. Oh, and I will be watching, so make sure to make it entertaining. Good evening."

And with his soon to be victims powerless to resist, Professor Falliss left the dining room.


	21. Bullet With Butterfly Wings

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 19. Bullet With Butterfly Wings****  
**

_by Quincy  
_

Jolice led Quincy to the third floor of the castle. "Here is your room, Quincy. I heard Lady Rhea will be staying right next to you; a wildcat named Kima and a stoat named Nallmian will be just across the hall."

"Sounds good to me," said Quincy, dropping his satchel on the bed, though he couldn't help feeling a tad nervous at the mention of the last two occupants. He'd never actually spent any quality time around a wildcat or a stoat before, or any of the species labeled as "vermin" for that matter. He kept telling himself that everything would be perfectly all right; certainly the Order of Armistice was prepared for any sort of mutiny or uprising, though with their reputation that didn't seem necessary. Indeed, even in the time it took for Jolice and Quincy to walk up to the third floor they had passed a rat, a weasel, and a ferret, all of whom nodded and gave amicable greetings as they passed.

"Where are you staying, Joli?" Quincy asked.

"Oh, probably in my mother's old room," Jolice replied. "We should get back downstairs, Quincy. Dinner should be served soon."

Sure enough, they had no sooner rounded the corner to the stairwell when a vixen appeared at the top of it.

"Marie," said Jolice politely as the two hares reached her.

"Jolice," said Marie. "Is this Quincy Tulep?"

"I am," Quincy answered.

"Follow me, Quincy. Dinner is served." Marie turned to head back down the stairs.

"Wait, what about Jolice?"

The vixen paused. "Oh."

"Oh!" Jolice said quickly. "I've got to have a meeting with Jeremy first and get situated. Don't worry about me, Quincy, I'll be around."

"All right," said Quincy, though the hare was somewhat crestfallen at this turn of events. Jolice had been his guide for the past week or so and forging ahead without her in a castle full of strangers felt a little intimidating.

The haremaid smiled and Quincy smiled wanly back before turning and following the vixen downstairs.

* * *

How could he have been so stupid?

The decrepit barn owl's voice sounded out like a death knell, and Quincy buried his face in his paws. Shock and outrage sounded all around him, but the young hare was quiet and still, too dumbfounded to add his voice to the chaotic cacophony of noise. How could he possibly have forgotten the vole?

It seemed the others were just now remembering him, too.

"There was a vole visiting Salamandastron, not long after I had handed in my notice. I was black-balled by everyone else, even most visitors. But this vole, he kept talking to me, asking me things. I had wondered why he was so interested, but he never answered," Quincy said slowly, though he was thinking aloud more than anything else.

He fell silent again as the Professor continued. There was no Order of Armistice, no organization of hope to reconcile vermin and woodlanders. He had left the warlike mountain to seek peace and had instead walked right back into hatred and distrust.

"Only one of you will be permitted to leave this castle, but not until the other nine are dead."

Quincy lifted his head from his paws, ears shooting up straight as ramrods. He was just opening his mouth to speak but Raine beat him to it. The Professor explained to them all the gruesome way in which nine of them were to die: at the paws of each other. That was preposterous; just because some old owl locked them in together didn't mean that they'd immediately start killing each other.

"But suppose we don't kill one another, eh? What if we just live and let live?"

Professor Falliss chuckled. "Oh, I think there will be intentional killing sooner or later, Mr. Tulep. For if you don't take it into your own paws, I will order the death of one of you at random. And remember, I have no bias as to how this turns out, so my choice could be any one of you. Well, there you have it. You know the game, and you know the rules. I wish you all the best of luck. Oh, and I will be watching, so make sure to make it entertaining. Good evening."

The owl hobbled slowly from the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Everyone jumped when a bowl flew at the door, falling just short and shattering on the stone floor. Saveaux gurgled something incomprehensible and looked for more things to throw, his large eyes bulging angrily, but Biara rushed to his side to calm him before he could hurl anything else.

To Quincy's surprise, the wildcat called Kima snorted. "This is some sort of joke, right? Some sick joke?" But a trace of fear flashed in her eyes.

"Are you deaf, cat?" the otter growled. "He means for us to kill one another."

"Why are _you_ so angry, Flynn?" Nallmian smirked. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to have a go at someone like Kima."

"That's if I didn't get to you first!" Flynn retorted.

"Ooh!" The stoat clasped a paw to his mouth in feigned surprise. "Hey everyone, it looks as if I'm to be the first victim!"

"How dare you make light of this," said Rhea sternly.

"Well, seeing as my room is across the hall from a Salamandastron badger I might as well make light of it while I've still got the chance. I guess I don't have to worry much about the hare, at least."

"Stop it." Quincy's voice was quiet yet firm.

Nallmian chuckled. "Excuse me? I don't take orders from hares, least of all ones that are just peace-loving bumpkins living in an all too painfully unrealistic dreamland."

Quincy stood, and so did the stoat. Nallmian was taller, older, and most likely infinitely more experienced, but by now the hare's survival instincts had kicked in, the same instincts that had gotten him through his first and only battle unscathed, and he was not about to back down. He'd faced bigger specimens with his blade and had won, and weapons weren't even an issue here.

"I said stop it," he repeated, as the two of them stood leering at each other across the table, Nallmian's sharp eyes narrowed to slits, and Quincy's jaw clenched determinedly.

"Just what are you planning to do to me, hare?" the stoat breathed dangerously.

"I'm not going to do a thing," Quincy said, "and neither are you, and neither is anyone else."

"Anyone seen the pepper?"

Nine heads swiveled in Sootpaws's direction. The fox looked up at them all earnestly. "Well, where is it? This food is rather bland."

No one quite knew how to answer, though whether that was because they couldn't find suitable curses or because they genuinely didn't know where the pepper was is uncertain.

Unfortunately the fox's distraction had only diffused the situation momentarily. A few moments later it was Desmond and not Nallmian that rounded on Quincy.

"So you're proposing we just sit on our tails and let the professor decide the order in which we are doomed to die? I hardly believe we should let that lunatic decide anything!"

"Well, who _does_ get to decide then?" Raine chimed in. "These are our lives at stake!"

"I'm not saying we shouldn't do anything," Quincy said. "All I'm saying is that we need to find a way out of this castle before we get so bleeding angry that we _do_ end up killing each other."

"Great plan," Flynn smirked. "Though I think you're overlooking just one minor detail. Remember how the professor said we were locked in?"

Rhea stood up next to Quincy. "Well, we can still try, can't we? I mean, maybe there is some way out, but Falliss thinks we'll all be too busy killing each other to try and look for it."

"I'm sure he's thought of everything," said Nallmian. "He's too smart for that."

"Well...he's still deranged," Rhea said.

"He was smart enough to get us all here without suspecting anything, wasn't he?" added Raine.

"He's no better than a conniving vermin," Flynn growled.

"And we're back to this now, are we?" Nallmian laughed mirthlessly. Biara made a soft huffing noise and shot a glare at Flynn.

The conversation was quickly escalating into an argument once more, but at that moment Quincy was no longer listening. A group of servants had just entered the room to clear some dishes. As they filed out, Quincy noticed one of them was a haremaid that looked awfully familiar...

"Excuse me," he said, but no one heard him above the sounds of their own quarreling.

Pushing his chair back, Quincy slipped out of the dining hall. He looked around the deserted entrance hall and noticed a pair of long ears whipping out of sight around the corner to his right.

"Jolice! Joli, wait!"

Quincy gave chase, charging down the stairs after her, but she had already disappeared into the basement. Quincy felt the temperature drop with each step. It wasn't as cold as it was outside, certainly, though it was a good deal colder and gloomier than the rest of the castle. The basement also seemed fairly stark in comparison to the ornate upper floors, though the hare supposed this was where most of the food supplies were stored, as was the case in the lower floors of Salamandastron. He peered into the open door of the kitchen as he passed, but caught no sight of Jolice.

Walking past the kitchen, Quincy wandered to the adjacent room, pushing the heavy door open and peering in. It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dim light, and he saw from the rows upon rows of barrels that it must be the cellar.

"Joli?"

He strode toward a dark silhouette in the middle of the room. The haremaid loomed out of the darkness, standing with her back to Quincy and staring intently at the labels on the barrels before her. Stopping just short of her, he put a tentative paw on her shoulder.

Jolice slowly turned, and Quincy took a step back in surprise at the utterly deadpan look in her eyes. "Hello," she said in an emotionless tone.

"Joli?" he said again. "What's happened to you?"

"Professor Falliss requires a nightcap," she intoned.

"Would you stop it, Joli? Why are you acting like one of those servant nutters? It's not funny."

"I must bring the Professor his nightcap..."

Jolice grasped a bottle and tried to walk past Quincy, but the hare grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and spun her around to face him, his face mere inches from hers.

"What is this?" he snarled, hot anger and frustration masking his normally calm features. "Who did this to you? Was it Jeremy? Did he make you act like this?"

A solitary tear leaked unbidden from Quincy's eye and rolled down his cheek. The haremaid's countenance was in stark contrast; completely nonplussed, she blinked slowly and said, "My duty was carried out successfully. You are here now. It was the will of the Professor. I live to do his will."

"Your what? Your duty? It was your _duty_ to bring me here?"

"Please let me go, Quincy Tulep, or I will have to summon help."

There was no trace of pleading in the haremaid's voice and her expression never altered a flicker.

"I get it," he said, pushing her away disdainfully. "This is some sort of disgusting joke. You and Rockleap came up with this one, no doubt. I bet you knew all about what that vole was doing and knew I'd never take the invitation without some persuading. Well ha ha, I'm jolly well dying of laughter."

Jolice stumbled backward but swiftly regained her composure. She stared at Quincy for a few moments. "Good night, Quincy Tulep. Sleep well."

Pivoting slowly on the spot, Jolice walked to the door.

"Go on then!" Quincy shouted, letting all the pent up frustration and despair he'd sustained during dinner finally course through him. "Leave me alone in this fates forsaken castle, walk away from me like every beast at Salamandastron. You're just as pathetically predictable as the lot of them!"

Jolice disappeared through the doorway. Quincy angrily swept his paw across a row of bottles on the nearest shelf, sending them tumbling to the floor where they shattered, sending dark wine and glass shards everywhere. The hare sank into a crouch, burying his face in his paws and sobbing brokenly.

"Trapped," he whimpered. "Trapped like a bloody rat."

"Is someone there?"

Quincy started at the unfamiliar voice, standing upright and quickly scrubbing at his eyes. He picked his way carefully through the aftermath of his rage, silently cursing himself for losing his temper. Of all the places in the land to lose one's composure, this was certainly the worst.

The hare emerged from the cellar and was rather surprised to see the fox from dinner standing there, looking at him curiously.

"Oh, I see you've had as much luck with drinks as I have tonight," he said.

"What?" Quincy followed the fox's pointing paw and saw that a good deal of wine had splashed on his footpaws, the crimson speckles standing out clearly against his snowy winter coat. "Oh. Yes, I suppose so. Wait, what are you doing down here?"

"Could ask you the same thing, I could!" sniffed the fox, picking absently at his teeth with a greasy claw. "I was just finished with me dinner and thought I'd come down here and kip for a bit. Then I heard you and I hoped maybe I'd have some company. Er, I mean, I thought someone might be staying down here too!"

"In the basement? Why would Professor Falliss have anyone stay down here? Well, besides the fact he's completely off his bally rocker."

The fox looked rather venomous. "I didn't choose it! It's just..." he trailed off. "Nah, it's stupid. 'Sides, I don't feel like sharing it with the likes of you. I mean, I did choose it. I mean, er, it's the best room in the place. I mean, er, um..."

The fox was clearly looking for an adequate excuse, even though this display was quite possibly the worst attempt at lying that Quincy had ever seen. A wave of sympathy swept over the hare. For some reason, for all the fox's blustering standoffishness, the hare didn't feel all that threatened by him, as he had with Nallmian. One thing was clear: the fox had been forced to stay down in this dank, dismal place against his will. He had been outcast.

"You know what, my dear fox?" Quincy said, cutting across the fox's murmurs. "I'll bet it's the finest room in the entire castle. I'm positively dying to see it. In the meantime, you can tell me just how you came about acquiring it."

The fox grinned, obviously pleased with his own cunning (or lack thereof). "Right! Er, the room! I'll take you there..."

Quincy followed the fox, smiling inwardly. He shoved Jolice from his mind for now. He would deal with all of that later. Perhaps it would be possible to find another friend in this dark place.


	22. You Ain't Going Nowhere

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 20. You Ain't Going Nowhere****  
**

_by Rhea  
_

Rhea leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs, less physically exhausted than mentally uneasy. One of the rooms on the uppermost level was hers, according to the mumblings of a servile rat, but she didn't need rest. The urge to act was an immortal insect, flitting and taunting just beyond her reach.

Another staircase terminated across the hallway. Rhea didn't notice Kima until the cat had almost reached the top, and the badger recoiled less out of intimidation than prejudice.

But as Kima turned towards the rest of the story, Rhea remembered that the other guests hadn't lived up to expectations, either. The Long Patrol had never seen a hare like Quincy, after all, and the fox strategists she'd heard of were far more competent than the fool at the "party" would ever be. If Morramel's deranged ramblings had any shred of truth, badger heroes of the past were just as blind as he was. Perhaps she, too, was more than just a badger.

"Kim?" she called tentatively.

"Kima." She halted and turned to face Rhea.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's all right."

"Thanks."

Kima smiled. "Lots of names to learn?"

"Yes," Rhea responded more soberly.

"And you're Rhea?"

"Yes," she repeated. Frustrated at Kima's tone—didn't she realize how _important_ this was?—Rhea plunged forward. "We need to get out of here."

She didn't have time to come up with an expectation. Maybe flippancy, maybe resignation. The day had seemed too dismal to be interrupted with any shred of fortune.

But Kima firmly met her eyes. "Yes. We do."

Nothing could have provoked giddiness in Rhea, but Kima's reply came close. "Finally, somebeast who understands!"

"How do we get out?"

"I'm not sure—not yet, anyway—but I've been looking around for any other doors besides the gate. It's guarded, but not _too_ heavily," she finished with unnecessary modesty. Even if she'd been able to hold onto her sling, it wouldn't have been much use.

Politely, Kima suggested, "If it's exits you want, you might be better off somewhere besides the top floor."

"That's a good idea, yes." Embarrassed but eager to show her readiness to escape, Rhea turned back to the stairs she had plodded up only moments before and bounded down. Her abrupt change in attitude gave Kima a moment's pause, but she quickly followed.

Another flight of stairs later, and they were on the main story. "You take the east side of the place, I'll deal with the west," Rhea commanded. "Touch the walls, knock on them. Look for anything that could be a door."

"Fair enough," shrugged Kima, loping towards the armoury.

Rhea began her search in the chamber where she'd eaten dinner. A lone rat was scrubbing the table, and he gave her several strange looks, but she ignored him. Slowly, she traced her way around the room, one paw on the wall and both eyes fixated dead ahead. At first, she knocked every fifth stone. By the time she turned her first corner, though, she was already knocking at random. Had she been locked into a pattern, there would be too much that she could have missed.

She emerged from the dining hall truly exhausted, but pressed along into an unoccupied bedroom. The four-poster bed was magnificently ornate, and the furniture had been carved with exquisite detail. From the crown etched into a wardrobe to the sword pattern on a bedside table, the room _reeked_ of elegance. The servants' obsequiousness did not extend here. Layers of dust covered every meticulously-designed surface, and the entire room had a slightly oppressive tinge to it. Rhea moved through it much more quickly.

As she stepped towards the adjacent room, she noticed the otter already occupying it. Now _there_ was a potential ally. "Hello there."

"Hello."

"Do you want to try breaking out of here?"

"Not until Skipper's avenged," Flynn responded grimly.

Unaware that the Skipper of Otters required revenge, Rhea was about to inquire as to what had happened when she noticed Kima emerge. "Are you done already?"

"It went fast," Kima replied. "There's nothing there. Should we try the gate?"

Rhea glanced towards the main hall. Two blurry figures stood unblinking beyond the inner portcullis. "Let's...wait until the morning. No use working our way out of here at this hour."

"Fine with me."

They returned to the third floor, passing Nallmian on the topmost stairwell. From a distance he seemed fully alert for the hour, ready to take on any challenge. Rhea opened her mouth to greet him, but he gave the new allies a wide berth.

She entered the room next to Quincy's. It was a welcome contrast from the one she had searched; while that had seemed hunchbacked under the weight of the past, her room was almost sterilely clean, ready for somebeast to make a mark. A window would have been useful, though.

The closet contained elegant robes suitable for a lady, each one a pleasant surprise. Rhea settled on a pale blue nightgown and set aside a pawkerchief. She yearned to rest, but her mind was held hostage by the potential futures. What if another creature snuck into the room? She hadn't figured out how to get her door to lock. What if there was a problem with the bridge? What if something happened to Kima? Sleep was a long time coming.

But it came, and as soon as it did, Rhea felt herself wake in what she hoped was morning. Sure enough, Quincy was already up. "Hello," she called.

"Good morning," Quincy replied.

"Hopefully it _is_ a good one." Rhea's voice did not reflect much in the way of hope.

"Not much chance, I suppose."

"No. Not unless...Would you want to get out of here?"

"Who wouldn't?"

"Flynn, for one."

"What are you thinking?"

"We scare the ferrets and make them open the gate." Rhea clumsily knotted the cloth she'd selected the previous night. "It _looks_ like a sling."

"There's got to be a better way."

"Do you have one?"

"Not yet," Quincy admitted. "But we have to be able to talk to them, somehow..."

"We can try that first."

"Well, _first_ we need to get the others."

"I tried last night. Only Kima is really interested."

"The only one interested in doing it your way, you mean."

"We're locked in a castle with a..." Rhea was unsure how best to deprecate the Professor. While his speech had assured her of his malice, it nevertheless aroused a morbid fascination. "A demented bird who wants us dead. I'm not sure negotiation will work with the beasts that are locking us in."

"Waving a pawkerchief at them won't be much better."

"It's worth a try."

"Are you sure?"

Rhea froze, not having considered the worst. "I'll be far enough away..."

"At least wait until the others will come along."

"Until we can do it your way, you mean."

"If my way isn't going to get you killed, yes."

"You don't know that."

"The servants aren't going to hurt us because we talk to them."

Rhea was saved from the ignominy of having to think of a reply by Kima's emergence. "What's going on? I could hear you out here."

"Did I wake you up?" Rhea fretted.

"Who knows? It's okay, though. What's going on?"

Both Rhea and Quincy tried to reply, but it was the badger's voice that came through. "He wants to get out, but thinks we can do it peacefully."

"Well, there's no need to rush into a fight, is there?" At Rhea's critical glare, Kima quickly continued, "Maybe they'd like to flip a coin? Call it correctly and we go through."

"And if we call it wrong?"

"Who says we will?"

"Who says we won't?"

"Me," Kima smiled.

Before Rhea could take issue, Quincy calmly interjected, "And what incentive would the servants have to play, anyway? They have their orders."

"What do you think we should do?" Other beasts might have tinged the question with sarcasm, but Kima spoke seriously.

"I dunno." He shifted uneasily. "Maybe I could start talking with one of them, and the two of you could threaten the other?"

"We'd lose any control as soon as he got free," Kima pointed out.

"But we could smash the controls!" Rhea grew more agitated. "Then everybody would be able to get out."

"The guards would go back to guarding it," Kima said, disappointed.

"We could go to the armoury—hey, why don't we go _now_?"

"They're going to be better fighters than us. Trickery is our best bet. If that doesn't work, we'll think of something else."

"If even one of us gets out, the entire setup falls apart," said Quincy. "The Professor can't continue his "experiment"."

Rhea sighed. "You two both think this will work?"

Quincy met her eyes firmly. "It's our best chance."

"Okay, then. Let's go."

They grimly descended the stairs, huddling together at the edge of the main hall. As they approached, Rhea recognized the two guards as ferrets and felt a sort of relief. Some vermin were just that.

"Hello there," smiled Quincy, his face nearly touching the bars. Neither responded. "How are you?"

"Fine." The one on the left uttered a quick syllable that seemed to end as soon as it began, keeping his distance.

"You must have an important job, guarding the gate."

Kima took a step forward. Rhea followed close behind, but Kima mouthed _Wait_. "I say," she perkily faced the ferrets, "did one of you drop something?"

"No," replied the other ferret.

Kima seemed astonished. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"It's a mighty fine piece of gold, and it doesn't belong to any of the guests. Wouldn't want it to go to waste."

They didn't answer, and Rhea joined Kima at the gate. "They answer questions. Ask them another question."

"They're not interested in _gold_, though! What do we do?"

"Keep talking until I come back, and play along when I do," Rhea whispered. "I have an idea."

She left them and returned to the third floor just long enough to grab her makeshift "sling," ignoring Desmond's odd glance as she dashed down the stairs and towards the portcullis. "It's on now," she yelled, "Let's hold them!"

"What's on?" Quincy asked, with good reason.

"The others, they've got the other gate open!"

The guards blinked in confusion. By their standards, they were dumbfounded.

Catching on, Kima added her faux battle cry. "Do your worst, scum, you'll never touch our friends!"

Uncertain how to proceed, the second ferret slowly approached the gate, a javelin at the ready. When he was within a paw's width of the cold gates, Rhea leapt at him, knocking the javelin to the tips of his paw. He tightened his grip on it, if only to prove that it was still under his control, and then spread both his paws wide. The weapon fell to the floor on Rhea's side of the gate; she dove for it, while Kima eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm no use to you dead," he said matter-of-factly. "You don't know the locks."

"We can hack our way through," Rhea retorted. Her energy was not the true Bloodwrath, but the pent-up accumulation of arrogance and desperation.

The frenzy was broken by the quiet sound of her name, spoken with the composure wrought from immense fear. "Rhea?"

She pivoted in place and felt as if she was collapsing. Quincy stood absolutely still, the other ferret's javelin curling through the bars and onto his neck. "Don't try any funny business," said the ferret, unconcerned. "I can throw faster than he can run."

If Falliss was telling the truth, at least two of them would have to die anyway. Could she assure her own survival on the fringes of a frigid forest? There was still the moat to deal with, and the possibility that her tracks would be snowed over. None of it mattered, really, compared to the shame she could never outrun.

She backed away, taking what she guessed was as long as she could without provoking the ferrets. Kima followed, but the ferret did not remove his javelin until both Rhea and Kima were at the other edge of the hall. Quincy scurried away, making no effort to feign defiance. Once again, Rhea was exhausted. There was still a day to face, yet her motivation to do so had dissipated.

"Come on," Kima murmured. "Let's go have breakfast."


	23. Here's To Those Who Wish Us Well!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 21. Here's To Those Who Wish Us Well!****  
**

_by Sootpaws  
_

Sootpaws fumbled his way down the dark basement corridor, bashing a paw on the metal ring of his door handle.

"Ow! Lousy, stinkin'…"

Muttering to himself, the fox pushed open the door to his room, stepping aside to let the surprisingly friendly hare inside. "Here we are then, my lodgings for this little holiday."

The fox managed to light a torch mounted on the wall. Quincy glanced about what was obviously an old storeroom with a bedroll in one corner, trying to think of something diplomatic to say. "It's very nice. Homely."

Sootpaws bustled around the room, kicking various pieces of broken storeroom junk out of the way and pulling up two boxes to a larger crate to make two chairs and a table.

"It's much nicer than my room back at the Palace! I had to share that with the whole of the rest of my squad, _and_ it didn't have its own drinks supply!"

"Drinks supply?" Quincy looked puzzled. Sootpaws grinned and nodded towards a large barrel that had had the top broken open.

"I figured as I was the Professor's guest, I should take advantage of his hospitality! And there were rather a lot of these barrels, I'm sure they won't miss the odd one… Drink?"

Quincy chuckled slightly, and nodded. "Given what that mad old bird is trying to put us through, I'd say his wine cellar was fair game, eh?"

Sootpaws tracked down a couple of chipped mugs and dunked each one in the barrel. He handed one to his companion and sat down heavily on one of the boxes.

~

Outside the castle, night was drawing in. The guests one by one warily left the dining hall, each pondering the Professor's revelation. Down in the basement, Sootpaw's head hit the improvised table with a thud. Momentarily shaken into action by the impact, the fox jumped to his feet, looking around himself with exaggerated caution.

"Muzzen't do ter fall 'sleep on watch," he slurred in the direction of the hare, who seemed to be finding the whole thing rather amusing. "Crazy ol' bird'll gobble y'up."

Having established that Professor Falliss was not creeping up behind him with the object of devouring him, Sootpaws lowered himself back onto his seat. Quincy shook his head and took another polite sip of the wine. He was already several mugs behind Sootpaws, and suspected that the fox had not had as much exposure to the stuff as himself.

"Tell me Sootpaws, how did you end up down here instead of with the others?"

Sootpaws, whose head had drooped onto the table again, looked up at the hare. "'Tis a sorry tale of misery an' woe, an' one I'll be happy to tell you if you'll fill me mug for me…"

~

In only a few hours it would be dinner, and time for the Professor's announcement to his guests. Jeremy had just finished a final inspection of the guest rooms, making sure that everything was up to the required standard one last time. Already the first few guests had started arriving.

As he made his way down towards the main entrance hall, Jeremy spotted a fox admiring one of the aging suits of armour that stood decoratively around the castle. This must be that Captain, the cunning duelist. According to the servant who had been assigned to Javik, the fox was almost graceful in a fight, swift and deadly, with an expert eye for spotting an opponent's weakness. Not exactly the friendly type though. Certainly an interesting addition to the Professor's experiment.

"Captain Javik?"

Jeremy had not tried to be stealthy, but still seemed to have caught the fox off guard. The guest visibly jumped and spun round to face him, looking highly flustered.

"I didn't do it! No one saw me do it! You can't prove anything!"

"Excuse me?" Jeremy was slightly startled at the fox's reaction. "You are Captain Javik, are you not?"

The fox opened his mouth, then seemed to pause briefly, as if trying to remember what to say. "That's right, I'm him. Captain Javik I mean. Most definitely Captain Javik. And certainly not that other fox they sent to escort him… me! Whatever the guard at the gate says…"

He tailed off, seeming to realise that he probably should have stopped talking significantly earlier. Jeremy glanced up and down at the fox. He certainly didn't hold himself like a Captain. And he seemed significantly less intelligent than he had been led to believe. There seemed to be only one conclusion.

"Let me be blunt sir," he said, frowning at the fox, who stood shifting uncomfortably from one footpaw to the other. "You are not Captain Javik. Wherever he is, and whatever you've done with him is unimportant. What matters is that you are here and he is not."

Clearly this idiotic creature was not of the calibre the Professor had been seeking. But that was not sufficient reason to delay the experiment, not now the other guests were starting to arrive.

"Obviously as you were not invited, we do not have a room prepared for you. I shall have one of the servants escort you to the basement room, I'm afraid it is the only one currently available." _If this fox was going to try and upset the Professor's plans then this was the least of his rewards…_

"Well why can't I have old Javik's room?" whined the fox, the idea of living in a cellar obviously not appealing to him. He opened his mouth to protest again, but caught the steely look in Jeremy's eye and decided against it.

"All right, all right. I'm going," he grumbled. The fox spun sharply in what was supposed to be a grand and imperious exit. Unfortunately, the effect was rather spoiled as he tripped on his own footpaw and staggered straight into the suit of armour, sending it crashing to the floor with a clatter that echoed down the hall.

"Ah. I can clear that up!"

"Just… go."

As the fox scurried out of the hall, Jeremy took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to kick the helmet that had rolled past his feet. Such a mess! And it had all been going so well…

~

Quincy couldn't help but laugh as Sootpaws told his tale. "My dear chap, fortune certainly seems to be playing some nasty tricks on you!"

The fox nodded glumly. "She 'as. Lady Luck 'as truly abandoned me 'ere."

There was a soft thud as his head made contact with the table again. Quincy put down his mug.

"Listen old chap, you don't mind if I bunk down here tonight do you? This door looks far more secure than mine, and I wouldn't put it past that blasted stoat Nallmian to try and stick a knife in my back if I start wandering the corridors now!"

There was a pause. Then, through the silence, the hare could make out the faint sounds of a beast snoring.

"Suppose I'll take the first watch then!" Quincy chuckled.


	24. Live And Let Die

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 22. Live And Let Die****  
**

_by Sootpaws  
_

"Will that be all for this evening Professor?"

The moon was already climbing over the castle as Jeremy cleared away the Professor's desk in his secret chamber. The ancient bird was standing near the window, looking out of the small gap in the thick stone wall and watching the clouds race by, churned endlessly by the wind.

"My guests, Jeremy. How are they settling in?"

The servant finished clearing the desk and approached the statue like figure of the Professor.

"They have retired to their rooms, Professor. I think your announcement took them by surprise, although I do not foresee much resistance from them. There is enough distrust for them to be reluctant to work together."

The Professor slowly nodded his head. "That fox, the one claiming to be Captain Javik. He is not supposed to be here."

Jeremy said nothing.

"I suspect that some of our guests will try to resist the experiment," continued Falliss. "I need to make an example of one of them, gently guide them towards the goal. As this fox is uninvited, I have chosen to use him. Before tomorrow is over, I want him dead."

Jeremy nodded. "Certainly, Professor. The fox is a fool; he will not be difficult to dispatch."

Sootpaws yawned loudly, his eyes slowly opening. The room felt as if it were slowly swaying. The fox tried to open his mouth to say something.

"Uuuurrrrrghhhh…"

Quincy opened an eye, chuckling at the prone form of the fox lying sprawled on the cellar floor.

"Good morning, old boy! Slept well?"

Sootpaws blinked a few times, trying to focus on the hare. Another groan was the best he could manage.

"Really, all things in moderation, what?" Quincy's stomach growled loudly. "Speaking of which, I think it's time to go in search of breakfast! What do you say?"

Sootpaws finally managed to find his tongue and string some words together.

"Uurghh… I'm really not so hungry…" he moaned, clutching at his throbbing head. "You go up, find out what there is. I'll come and join you, just need to sleep this off…"

The hare snorted. "You could sleep for a week and still feel that one! Get on your feet, go for a walk, that'll clear your head soon enough, eh? Well, I shall meet you in the dining room. Thanks for the hospitality, old chum!"

With a cheery grin, Quincy headed out of the room, leaving Sootpaws alone. Time dragged past. Sootpaws tried to fall asleep again, but it was no good. Pulling himself shakily upright, the fox glanced around at the cellar he now called his home. All because of that mad old bird and his stupid experiment! A small draft suddenly wafted across the back of his neck, the fox felt a strange sensation of being watched. Sootpaws spun round, and instantly regretted moving so quickly. Staggering towards the door, he tripped on a broken mug and crashed to the floor. Muttering colourful curses to himself, Sootpaws pulled himself upright again and lurched out of the cellar.

He didn't notice the dart now embedded in a stacked chest, right where his head had been mere seconds before.

_Blasted corridor!_ Sootpaws thought to himself as he staggered along, _Mad Old Bird and his Crazy Castle with the moving floor!_ The fox felt his way carefully along the wall, managing to avoid another of the suits of armour that had been his downfall when he arrived. Finally, he arrived at a door he thought led to the dining room.

Stopping only to briefly inspect a portrait that he could have sworn just blinked at him, Sootpaws pushed open the door. It wasn't the dining room. Inside were rack after rack of weapons and armour, some obviously antiques, others more recent. The fox gazed about him, surprised to see so many different types of weapons. After all, the Professor's servants hadn't looked like soldiers. Maybe they belonged to the previous owner?

Sootpaws' shaky progress around the room was halted abruptly as he turned a corner and walked straight into the otter, Flynn, who had been at dinner the previous night.

"Hey! Watch were you're going vermin!" growled the otter, with an aggressive glare.

Sootpaws backed up hurriedly. He had never fought an otter, but he had heard the stories and hoped he would never have to!

"I'm sorry, I were looking for the dining room," he mumbled. "The one from last night."

"A likely story," Flynn spat the words, never taking her eyes off the fox. "You're after weapons. I know your type, vermin. You'll kill us all in our sleep as soon as look at us! Well I'm onto your little game, vermin. I'm going to get the others, and then we'll see who'll be the first!"

"Now, wait a minute!" Sootpaws protested in vain, Flynn swept away from him, slamming the armoury door behind her. "I'm not goin' to hurt you! Look at me, I'm useless! I couldn't hit a…"

The fox made a dash for the door, but tripped on a trailing lace from one of his boots, sending him crashing to the floor against one of the high racks. His protestations were cut short as an ornamental mace rolled slowly along the top shelf, before plummeting over the edge. Looking up, Sootpaws watched the mace tumble.

"Oh, bu-"

The crash echoed round the castle. Down the corridor, Quincy's ears flicked. "What was that?"

Pausing only to take another bite of the small loaf of bread he'd managed to find, the hare dashed down the corridor towards the source of the sound. Barging open the armoury door, Quincy pulled up to a sudden stop, to find Sootpaws slumped on the floor, the mace lying next to him. Flynn was already there, standing with a look of obvious contempt.

"Vermin. Got what he deserved," she muttered under her breath.

Quincy was stunned. He had heard the Professor's ultimatum of course, but only now, with the body at his feet, did the full significance finally sink in. Before the hare could speak, a new face appeared from behind one of the racks. It was Jeremy, Falliss' Head Servant. He looked down at the body in surprise.

"Did you do this?" he asked, suspiciously. Flynn mumbled a negative.

"Well don't look at me. _I_ rather liked him," Quincy's voice was grim.

Jeremy nodded, then beckoned. A pair of the Professor's servants, expressionless as ever, appeared. Picking up the body, the carried it past Jeremy and away from view.

"I'll have it disposed of," Jeremy said, coldly. With a brief nod to the otter and the hare, he was gone

end of week one.


	25. I want to break free

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of round two.

**Chapter 23. I want to break free****  
**

_by Flynn  
_

_Why? Why had she been so foolish? She had blindly come running at the first chance she got, but what had she run into? Her passions had clearly taken control of her, a mistake, even for one such as her. She had hitherto been called reckless, headstrong, all the words that were typically used to describe a rash young beast. They had been right of course, all of them. Whatever happened next, she could not act on her own. She now had to work together with other beasts if she was to survive. Everything in her power must be done, to escape this deathtrap._

After dinner, she had immediately slipped out the corner. It was better not to get caught up in the shouting match that inevitably would happen. Besides, she had needed to clear her head and fully digest what the Professor had said. It was plain now, that defense parameters needed to be set. She had prepared for the possible defense of her room, but where would a second sanctuary exist if needed? It was imperative to find out if there was such a room that could be easily defended.

The Armoury, would be her first stop. This time, she needed a possible defense against multiple beasts. Swords were obviously out of the question, as they could be useless in a tight corner. For the same reasons, the daggers and suchlike were useless. The flail-like maces looked like a good option, but they were far out of her reach on a high shelf. That left projectile weapons and others with a long reach. Flynn had taken a full quiver of arrows and a bow. She also had taken 2 pikes with her. It had been a heavy load to carry, but somehow, she had managed.

She had gone somewhere; she did not remember exactly where in the castle it was. Flynn knew it was not on the main floor. There she set up the quiver and bows in a hidden place and proceeded to position the pikes. It had taken many hours that much was certain, and these pikes were placed in such a way as to mean death to any beast that chanced to be careless.

When the cautious defender had stepped out of this proposed safe haven she had felt confident. Confident enough to walk the halls of the castle at night unarmed. Cockiness is always dangerous, even if it does not kill you; it is still a foolish thing. The bump on the head was not remembered, neither was the odd whiff of gas. Either way, Flynn woke up the next morning on the floor of the Ballroom. It appeared to be morning anyways, as the bustle of other beasts could clearly be heard.

Flynn stood up straight, assessing her situation. Gazing around her, she saw the bow lying on the ground with its string cut. Lined up next to the bow, were all of the arrow shafts she had intended to use. They were all neatly broken in half at their midpoint. No traces that any other beasts save her were in the room. Without any warning, Flynn fell to her knees and vomited. She beat her paws against the cold floor in frustration, tears streaming from her cheeks.

_Skipper, did I come here for me or you? It should have been obvious should it? How could I have possibly mistaken Faliss or any of his creatures for the killer? Was it my desire to pin the blame on somebody I did not even know? I ran around in circles, looking for 'revenge', but what was I avenging? Do I even know who I am, or what kind of beast I am? Am I a Warrior or am I just Lost?_

She knew not how long she lay on the floor. The way she felt then, it seemed as she was there for hours. She just let it all out, pounding the floor and crying. It was lucky for her indeed that the door to the Ballroom was closed, thereby preserving her dignity her dignity. If any beast had seen this unsettling display, Flynn might have had a hard time explaining it.

"Ugh" It was now clearly time to get up and do something. First of all, she had to check her room, and assess how safe it was. After that, it would be wise to meet up with the others. Flynn stood up and exited the Ballroom, to her destination. She took with her the top part of the arrow shafts, for broken though they were, could still be useful.

She reached her room, without seeing another beast. The minute she stepped inside, she knew something was definitely wrong. The desk in the corner of the room was ajar. Whatever had been in that desk was probably long gone now. Flynn did not even bother to inspect it as she set up the hiding place for the arrow shafts. Securing the bed was her primary objective, and she made amply sure that no stray beast could use it without injury.

There_, the defense of the room seemed just about right. It was probably time to head out in search of the others now. The curious thing was that she had not seen or heard any beast yet. When she had first woken up, there had been noises, presumably from creatures breakfasting. Now however, there was a silence. This was definitely a silence that demanded explanation._

Flynn headed outside with caution, being careful not to make any revealing noise. There was no telling what the servants had been told about them. After all, had they not been commanded to kill them all if things did not go according to plan? That was certainly a valid cause for concern. The next thing to do then was to defend themselves against the servants. Maybe she could change the other guest's opinion of her by co-operating with them. It was a start, everyone needed to fight together sometime.

The otter entered the Armoury by the southern end, and perceived that she was alone. It was just as well, for she did not wish to be disturbed at this time. Right now she had to decide which weapons to distribute among her fellow guests. There were different strength levels among the others and she needed to try to accommodate them all. Flynn had just made her decisions when she heard a noise behind her. That annoying fox came into the room and slammed the door. Unaware of prior occupation, he nearly bumped right into her.

"Hey! Watch where you're going vermin!" Flynn snarled upon being bumped back by his clumsiness. She was surprised at how fast that comment had slipped out of her. That certainly was not the best way to greet someone, but he was stupid and clumsy.

The fox backed up immediately with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry, I were looking for the dining room," he mumbled. "The one from last night."

"A likely story," Flynn spat the words, never taking her eyes off the fox. "You're after weapons. I know your type, vermin. You'll kill us all in our sleep as soon as look at us! Well I'm onto your little game, vermin. I'm going to get the others, and then we'll see who'll be the first!"

Now, wait a minute!" Sootpaws protested in vain, Flynn swept past him, slamming the armoury door behind her. She needed to get this moron with the program, and soon. This fool needed to hear what she had to say. Regrettably, he was backing up rapidly, possibly scared from the dagger she held in her hand. "I'm not goin' to hurt you! Look at me, I'm useless! I couldn't hit a…"

Suddenly the fox made a break for the door, thinking his life was in danger. Flynn moved to stop him, but then the fox suddenly lost balance and lurched toward the ground. Time suddenly seemed to slow to a crawl for a few short moments. Flynn noticed then that her footpaw was resting on a boot lace which was still attached to its shoe. The shoe had still been attached to its owner, who was now falling in suspended animation.

Time suddenly returned to normal. The shoelace was jerked from under Flynn's foot as Sootpaws fell against one of the weapon racks. The impact caused on of the highest shelves to shudder, and break in too. Flynn could only watch as a heavy old ornamental mace fell off of the shelf, -right onto Sootpaw's head. The fox barely had a chance to say anything before he was brained by the weight of the mace.

Flynn stared at the slumped body of the fox on the floor. He was clearly dead; his skull had been dented badly by the impact. Suddenly her knees began to shake violently, in an attempt to steady them; she clutched them with her paws. Flynn felt sick immediately, she vomited repeatedly in quick succession.  
_  
She.....She had…killed him….No, it had been an accident, how was she to have known that he had loose bootlaces? He had been an innocent, at least as far as she knew. A foolish one to be sure, but he had seemed fairly incapable of harm. What separated vermin from goodbeasts after all? Surely it was the intent ,and the meaning behind acts that determined what a beast was._

_This was sure to ruin her chances of successful teamwork, unless they never knew. She knew, had known from the start that none of these beast had killed Skipper. That meant that for now, there was no reason to distrust the other guests…even those commonly labeled as 'vermin.' For all she knew, 'vermin' did not refer to particular races of beasts, but could apply to any beast for actions of a villainous nature._  
The door clicked as the handle was turned. Undoubtedly otherbeasts had heard the commotion and hurried to the scene. Flynn hastily stood up and repositioned herself so that she was standing further away from the body.

When the door opened, Quincy stood in the doorway with an utter look of surprise on his face. He looked down at the slain fox, then up at Flynn.

"Vermin, got what she deserved," Flynn muttered under her breath

Events then proceeded to progress in a blur. The hare asked her a question that she vaguely heard. The servants carried the body out, all without much response from Flynn.

Then they were alone in the room and time returned to normal. Flynn looked up at the hare. "Well?" Quincy asked at length , "Is there a reason you're still here?"

Flynn raised her head so that she was staring directly at the hare. "Yes, Iv'e changed my mind.....about everything. I really think we all need to band together in order to survive."

She then said the thing she thought she never would say.....

"I now have no qualms about working with any of the other guests."


	26. Gravitation

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 24. Gravitation****  
**

_by Quincy  
_

_Dead. He's...dead. And_ she's _here._

For the third time in less than a day, the hare felt his world crashing down around him. In the brief time that he'd known the fox, he'd felt a certain kind of kinship with him. He'd thought perhaps the fox would have been on his side and perhaps even helped him find a way out of this place, but _she_ had put a stop to it.

"What in the blazes are you doing here still?" It came out as more of a command, but the ottermaid appeared not to have heard him.

After a few moments she looked up at him but still said nothing. Her countenance softened, her shoulders relaxed, and her eyes gleamed with the light of fear and dejection rather than their usual haughty suspicion.

"Well?" Quincy said, a bit more gently this time. "Is there a reason you're still here?"

"Yes, I've changed my mind...about everything. I really think we all need to band together in order to survive."

For a moment, the pair stood in silence. Had the situation not been so grave, the hare would have burst out laughing at Flynn's statement. He stared at her curiously, studying her features. Sootpaws was dead, apparently murdered by the otter. How could she have this sudden change of heart? Could it possibly be guilt? She certainly looked as though she had killed vermin before. What's worse, she seemed to _relish_ killing them. Certainly Sootpaws, a fox, a _vermin_, albeit a bumbling and seemingly innocent one, could not have caused her to do a moral about-face.

_When the others find out about this, they'll have her head._

_...Good._

But he couldn't think like that. He couldn't let his anger get the best of him again. It would only lead to more loss of life. Besides, Flynn was preconditioned to hate vermin. Most woodlanders were. He had been. Could Quincy really blame her for how she was raised?

_Just...need to get out. Then I can figure out how to deal with what she's done._

With some difficulty, Quincy swallowed back the painful lump that had formed in his throat.

"You're right. Come on, miss."

Quincy had to get out of the armory. All he saw here was Sootpaws lying in a lifeless heap, and he couldn't bear to dwell on that anymore. Besides, it was really starting to smell foul in this room for some reason.

Walking mechanically to the door, Quincy pushed it open, feeling vaguely dizzy as he crossed the hall and barged into the dining room. By now the other guests were seated at the table, eating breakfast and not talking to each other much. Rhea and Kima looked particularly dejected; Quincy had almost forgotten about their failed attempt at escape earlier this morning and he couldn't meet their gaze. They had been so close, but he had ruined everything.

"Well, what was that horrid sound earlier?" asked Desmond.

"Sootpaws," Quincy croaked, but it was all he could manage.

The answer was written all over his face, by the looks of the other guests. None of them looked especially mournful at the fox's passing, Quincy noted with deepest annoyance. Desmond even seemed to be trying to examine his own reflection in the back of his spoon.

"How did it...?" Rhea said, getting up and moving toward the door.

"Don't bother, Lady Rhea," Quincy said, stopping the badger in her tracks. "The servants have already taken care of him."

"Servants?" Biara inquired, her ears perking interestedly. "Was it the servants that did it?"

"All I know is that he was in the armory one second, alive, and then he was dead," said Flynn. "It was some sort of freak accident."

Nallmian chuckled; Biara tittered nervously.

"Accident?" said the former. "You really expect us to swallow this tripe, otter?"

"Hold on there, chap," said Quincy firmly, just as Biara was opening her mouth to add something along the same lines as Nallmian. "I don't know what happened back there, but even if Flynn isn't telling the truth, what are you proposing we do? Kill her? Will that bring Sootpaws back?"

"An eye for an eye, hare," Nallmian snarled. "She killed one of ours, so we should be able to kill one of yours!"

_"Oh stop that kind of idiotic jargon this instant!"_ Quincy roared.

Spoons clattered into bowls and all murmured side conversation ceased. Even Desmond ceased his spoon gazing. All eyes were fixed on the hare. Rhea looked particularly taken aback at Quincy's outburst, obviously not able to believe a hare with Quincy's reputation was capable of causing such a clamor.

"There is no 'yours' or 'ours,' Nallmian! If you hadn't noticed, we're all in this together. Vermin, woodlander, it doesn't matter! We're all going to die at the claws of this crazy professor sooner or later no matter what species we are. The only way we can get out of this is if we all work together, which, I'll have you know, Flynn has told me she is more than willing to do."

"I'm not willing to work with her," said Biara quietly.

"Now, hold on a moment, Biara," said Kima. "Rhea, Quincy and I all worked to try and get out of this castle, and with just the three of us we nearly managed it. If all ten—"

"Niiiii-iine," Saveaux corrected her.

"Sorry, if all _nine_ of us work together, well, let's just say I like the sound of those odds a lot better."

"What shall it be then, Kima?" asked Biara. "They'll have increased security at the gate by now after your escape attempt this morning."

"There must be another way out," said Rhea.

"I'll bet the servants know of another exit," said Nallmian.

"The professor's the key to getting out. We should find him and demand he release us at once!" Desmond declared.

"Liiiibrrrrarrry!" Saveaux rasped.

"I think it's probably best we split into groups to get more done," said Flynn. "We can cover more of the castle faster."

"And have vermin and woodlander pitted against each other all over again? I think not," Rhea cautioned.

"Well," said Quincy, "I agree with Flynn."

"What was all that sentimental rubbish about togetherness for, then, if you'd have us separate into factions?" Nallmian sneered.

"Because it ruddy well makes sense," Quincy said with as much patience as he could muster. "We've not been here for a full day and already one of us is dead. We need to get this castle searched as quickly as possible and the best way to do it is by splitting up. The fairest way to do this, of course, is by choosing groups at random..."

He was interrupted by several indignant cries.

"Fair?" Nallmian spluttered loudest of all. "And if I get stuck with a bunch of woodlanders...?"

Quincy noticed his eyes traveling back and forth from Rhea to Flynn.

"Well, we'll be able to keep each other accountable then," said Rhea, also noting Nallmian's gaze. "I for one, support the idea of not killing one another, and I'll do my best to try and stop any attempts."

"Sounds noble enough in front of this group," said Biara. "What's to say you won't change your tune in some dark corner of the castle?"

"I know it sounds bloody inconceivable," Quincy sighed, "but we're just going to have to learn to trust one another."

As expected, several mutters and scoffs met this statement.

The hare folded his paws across his chest. "Well, if any of you chaps have a better way of deciding groups I am simply _dying_ to hear it."

Nallmian quietly fumed and Biara looked at Quincy with distrust; some form of disgruntled look was plastered on every face before him, except for Raine, who was wearing a strangely serene smile.

"Ooh, come on, let's give it a go!" the mousemaid cooed. "Who knows, it might even turn out to be fun!"

"Fun" wasn't exactly the word that sprang to Quincy's mind when he imagined the task that lay before them, nor did he feel much like giggling, as Raine did after her little statement. Still, as unbelievable as her reaction was, Quincy felt an overwhelming gratefulness for her enthusiasm.

"Right!" he cried. "I know just the way to do this. It's an old trick we young recruits did on shore patrol, because we always fought over who had to take the morning shift."

Quincy was surprised at the fondness in his own voice. He'd left the life of the Long Patroller behind, but at least on shore patrol there had been sunlight and fresh air, golden sand and deep blue sea, no boundaries and no worries...

"Right!" he exclaimed again, shaking himself back to the dark, gloomy present. "Back in a tick, wot!"

He darted out of the dining room, leaving everyone to glance at each other bewilderedly. He reappeared a minute later with a triumphant grin and a bundle of thin, straight twigs clutched in one paw.

"Stiii-iiicks?" said Saveaux quizzically.

"Yes, sticks, my good newt." Quincy was in his element by now. Leaping up on one of the dining chairs, he held them up for all to see. "Well, twigs, technically speaking. I swiped them from a broom I found in the hall. As you can see, I hold nine twigs in my paw: three short, three long, and three of medium length. One at a time you'll come forward and draw a twig. You'll then match up your twigs with whichever two of us have drawn the same length as you. Then those will be our groups. Three beasts should be enough to keep an eye on each other within groups, I figure. Well, who's first?"

Raine and Kima moved forward almost immediately, but the rest hung back uncertainly. Quincy was too busy mixing the twigs and hiding their true lengths in his fists to notice the look that passed between Nallmian and Biara.

Raine reached out and slowly drew a twig from Quincy's paws. She moved back, and Kima came forward next to draw, looking very pleased that they were trusting their groups to chance. One by one the guests shuffled forward, drew, and retreated, until Quincy was left holding a short twig in his paws. Quincy felt almost elated for the first time since dinner last night. There was hope for them yet. They were going along with his idea without fighting. This might actually work.

Quincy's temporary good mood deflated somewhat when he noticed a pair of battle-worn paws clasping another of the shortest twigs as the very beast he had been most hoping to avoid stepped forward. The hare and otter's eyes met, but Quincy only saw a lifeless Sootpaws in them.

"Well," he said, "I guess we're in this together."

Fate was funny like that.


	27. It's Not Enough To Bash In Heads

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 25. It's Not Enough To Bash In Heads...****  
**

_by Nallmian  
_

As a rule, Nallmian did not like being taken by surprise, and what the Professor had revealed at dinner outdid just about any unpleasant surprise the stoat could remember. As everyone began to get over their initial shock at the owl's announcement that they had all been made involuntary research assistants for a crazy experiment that would get nine of them killed, Nallmian's first thoughts had been of Flynn and Rhea. The otter had been looking for an excuse to kill somebody right from the start, and here the owl had just snatched away the one thing holding her back. The stoat quickly retrieved the knife he had hidden in a sheath in his boot, as well as another hidden in a holster at the small of his back, stowing one at his belt for easy access and holding the other trained on the otter but ready to throw at the badger if necessary. He considered taking out the otter immediately, but hesitated, realizing that doing so would make him the primary target for the other woodlanders, including the dreaded badger. Instead, he quickly began to make his retreat, keeping the otter nominally covered but swiftly leaving the room, switching the knife to a close combat hold rather than a throwing hold as he got out of the dining hall.

Quickly but cautiously moving towards the armory, he slipped inside and began to go for the weapons. His hordebeasts back home had been skirmishers, fast but lightly armed. The stoat contemplated taking a larger weapon to fight the badger if need be, or hold the otter at bay to avoid a close fight with the stronger mustelid, since he was sure Flynn had him beat for raw strength, but decided against it when he tried to lift one of the larger broadswords and couldn't even hold it steady, his paws shaking from the weight. Dropping the sword, he decided to go with what he could already use, strapping on a throwing knife harness and filling all six holsters from the two knives he had already and four more from the wall. He took a small round shield, made of wood with a metal centerpiece, and three javelins, two of which he held in his shield paw and one in his free right paw. They were of good quality wood, with a metal tip, similar to what he had used in Lord Whitefire's horde. The stoat also took a short sword that fit more or less into the scabbard already at his wait, which had not been confiscated with the actual sword. All these weapons would probably not be enough for an open melee, but maybe if he found a room with only one exit he could hide until the dust settled. If anyone tried to come through, he could throw a javelin into them as they went through the doorway. It might not stop the badger, but a javelin in the chest would be a major problem for any of the other woodlanders, unless one of them found some armor before attacking him. That might be more difficult to deal with. Still, otters almost invariably fought without heavy armor to leave them free to swim, and even if the mouse or the hare found armor, it might encumber them enough that he could get them in the leg or footpaw and then somehow evade them. Still calculating various scenarios, the stoat rushed down the halls trying to find an empty room. He strongly considered killing a few servants he saw as they wandered the halls, seemingly oblivious to the chaos their master had unleashed.

"For your own safety, please do not run in the corridor while holding sharp objects. Thank you for your compliance." A squirrel servant droned in a flat voice. Nallmian could scarcely believe what he was hearing. It was almost farcical, the idea of the servants lecturing him on safety after the owl had announced that he intended on most of them ending up dead. He decided that he couldn't waste the time or weaponry now, but before he left, he was going to make a few of these corpse-like servants pay for playing him for an idiot and irritating him in the process.

Such thoughts of vengeance were still in Nallmian's head by the next day. The stoat had found a room and hidden in it for a long while. He had used a little of the stimulant to stay awake, but hadn't needed as much he normally would have, because the adrenaline and rushing thoughts helped keep him awake as well. That owl had played him and Lord Whitefire for idiots, and that latter trick really took some doing. Whitefire was in many ways not as impressive as a general or warrior as most warlords, but one thing he was very, very good at was reading creatures. The ermine promoted capable officers and officials (if Nallmian did say so himself), negotiated profitable trade deals and alliances with surrounding warlords, played the regional balance of power to his advantage and was a highly capable commercial administrator. Granted, birds like the Professor were different than mammals, but even then Nallmian was truly surprised that Whitefire had been taken completely unawares.

Or had he? A gnawing little voice in Nallmian's head asked. This Professor had been planning the experiment for a long time, probably well before he met Whitefire. Whitefire was also very interested in behavioralism and experimentation with reactions and interactions. The Professor probably really did have some impressive weapons technology under his command. Was it possible that Whitefire had double crossed him, trading a captain to take place in the experiment for some kind of preferential deal or bargain? The very thought was horrible. Nallmian may have had a lot of vices, especially when it came to slicing and dicing any woodlanders who fell into his grasp, but disloyalty was not one of them. He had always been a completely faithful hordebeast and officer, and had felt entitled to expect that Whitefire would not just discard him as some sort of bargaining chip. The possibility hurt even to contemplate, but the more Nallmian thought about it while sitting alone in that room, the more things stopped making sense. The pages of information Whitefire had furnished him looked impressive at the start, but had turned out to be completely and utterly useless, and on several point outright false, implying that the Professor was some exotic carnivore species and not a bird, and seriously understating both his age and apparent actual wealth. Come to think of it, why send Nallmian to begin with? Captain Marrariet would have been the logical choice if Lord Whitefire had really expected a deal. Marrariet was a ferret, and a foreigner like Whitefire, who handled most of Whitefire's negotiations in his absence. Marrariet spoke at least three or four languages, was suave, calm, patient, and a lot of other things Nallmian was not. Exciteable, eccentric Nallmian would not have been a logical choice to conduct a sensitive negotiation, but he might well have been a very good choice for who to send as a sacrificial offering to the Professor. He was smart and good at his job, but not irreplaceable, was a local recruit rather than one of Whitefire's companions, and interesting enough to fit into an experiment but not for Whitefire to strongly want to keep him safe. Nallmian didn't like where this path of thought was headed, but he couldn't just ignore it. It was a miserable night hiding out in that room with his imagination to torment him, and the specter of impending peril looming vaguely over the castle.

After many hours in that room, Nallmian couldn't be certain what time it was exactly, but it felt like enough time had passed that it might be morning. More importantly, there wasn't much in the way of noise coming from the rest of the castle. No screams or groans of the wounded or dying, no battlecries, no sounds of a struggle. Maybe the more belligerent guests had killed each other off, or reached a standstill. Maybe the less sanguine guests had made a similar decision to his, trying to hide until things settled down a bit and there was less immediate danger of a major brawl. Or maybe some of them even managed to escape. Nallmian decided that it was time to go find out more. Besides, he was hungry, and needed to eat if he was going to be in any condition to ensure his survival. Taking his weapons with him, the stoat cautiously opened the door and walked quietly down the hallways. He decided to head for the dining room, where he could get some food, and maybe find some other guests, or failing that head to the cellars. As he got closer, however, he was startled by a sudden loud noise. As tense as he was, the stoat jumped more than he would have wanted to admit at the noise, then quickly dashed for cover, ducking into a doorway as he glanced down the hall. However, there was nothing there, and indeed the noise had come from further down. Javelin at the ready, he walked slowly down the corridor, eyes glancing in every direction, scanning for any threats.

The stoat made his way to the dining room, and cautiously peered in side. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the otter was nowhere in sight, and that the other guests, including the badger, were eating and drinking rather than fighting. Nallmian took some food and drink of his own and started breakfast, also stowing some food away in empty hip pouches for later. He was most of the way through his food when the door opened and Quincy and Flynn lurched in, both of them looking rather disturbed. Moments later, it became clear why. Their group of ten was now a group of nine. Nallmian was not particularly surprised that that idiot fox had somehow managed to get himself killed. He had known hordebeasts like that, and most of them had met similar fates. Woodlander stories might have portrayed most rank and file hordebeasts as magnificently stupid, but that was not entirely true. There was certainly often a dearth of formal education in the hordes, but not as much as was sometimes thought, and even the most uncouth of hordebeasts tended not to be complete and total idiots for the simple reason that the stupid ones tended to die first. What was more surprising was how hard the hare seemed to being taking the death. Even Flynn did not look particularly joyful.

Still, even that surprise was nothing next to the surprise of what Quincy planned to do. Did the hare seriously expect him to stake his life on a straw? No, that was not going to happen. Luckily for Nallmian, games of chance were common in horde life, and he had somewhat of an idea how to game the system. He was far from a master at prestidigitation, but he had to give it a try. At worst he might earn a scolding. At best, he might end up with a much better arrangement than chance would normally arrange. As he went up to draw, he exchanged a brief glance with Biara, the marten healer he had been talking to at the table. Nallmian knew exactly who he wanted to end up with….

A short bit later, Nallmian grinned as he sidled up to Biara. Cheating to make sure he wound up with the pine marten medic had been risky, but worth it, ensuring that he would have an intelligent, competent companion who had the same enemies that he did, namely a certain wrathful otter. The newt was more of an unknown quantity to him, but seemed like a reasonably good traveling companion as well. At the very least, he was not likely to be dangerous to Nallmian personally, and even though he may not have been a vermin by strictest definition, he would not be surprised if the newt was worried about Flynn as well. If he wasn't already worried, Nallmian would make sure he was. Besides, even though the creature couldn't speak well, Nallmian suspected that he was more intelligent than most of the guests gave him credit for. The ability to speak did not automatically signal the ability to think, and the converse was probably true as well.

"Well, looks like some of Miss Kitty's luck rubbed off on me." The stoat said cheerfully. "Flynn will have to take her anger out on somebody else, at least for the moment." He made sure the otter was not looking directly at him, and stuck his tongue out at her. "Now let's get out of her before she changes her mind about the whole 'sanity' bit."

"I'll second that." Biara replied, smirking lightly. The trio began to hurry away from the rest of the group, trying to put some distance between themselves and the rest. Biara continued talking as they walked. "For someone so angry, she didn't deal so well with the fox dying. Or maybe it's not just the fox. The weeping of orphaned and widowed fish must be ringing in her ears. Maybe the ghosts of murdered shrimp helped with your draw, too. Something did. I saw that look you gave me. You knew exactly what was going to happen."

"Miss Biara, are you accusing me of cheating? You…you don't believe me?" Nallmian's eyes got a little wider, and his lip quivered ever so slightly. "You're saying that just because I'm a stoat I can't be honest, that everything I do has to have a c loud of suspicion over it? Well that's…." his voice caught a little bit. "That's just…" He snapped back to normal. "Absolutely right. Of course I rigged the draw. I wasn't about to risk winding up with Fishbreath or Rhea, or even that hare, Quincy. 'Gates, even Desmond would have been annoying, even if maybe not dangerous. No, from what I've seen, I managed to get with the one creature here I really want with me if I want to get out of this castle. And as a bonus prize…" Nallmian turned his attention to the newt. "What's your name again, mate?"

"Sav-oh." The newt managed to say, his voice sounding tenous and strained. "Was called…toorite."

"Come again?"

"Saveaux. He's a newt who came to the castle for some sort of literary event. He has a very sore throat, but I've been helping him with it, and it seems to be doing some good." Biara explained. Saveaux looked slightly dubious at this last statement, but the marten ignored this.

"Well, Saveaux, you may not be a vermin by the strict rules of verminry, but I guess you're close enough. I don't recall woodlanders being too chummy with amphibians. Welcome aboard, Sir Newt!" Nallmian stopped and held out his paw, which Saveaux took. Nallmian shook the offered paw vigorously.

"Pleased…to meet, Nallmian."The newt's voice was indeed impaired, but he was reasonably understandable, and probably would become more so as time went on."

"And of course, we already know each other from your little stunt at the table. I thought the otter was going to jam her fork through your eye and into your brain. That, or try to make you choke on the birdwing." Biara said as they kept walking.  
"Still, thanks for taking some of the heat off of me. Flynn's some kind of zealot, it looks like. I never did care for her type of woodlander." She glanced at him. "I take it that has something to do with your sleight of paw back at the drawing."

"Yes. The first victim was a fox, a vermin like us. Now, I don't know about you, but after everyone started bugging out over the professor's speech, I went straight to the armory, grabbed some gear, and then found a spare room to hide out in until the dust settled a bit. I take it you did something similar. But our fox philosopher might not have had the wits to recognize the danger he was in, and probably just went about his business. I'm thinking that Flynn, failing to find either of us, may have decided to vent her temper by sending an easy victim to the big pepper shaker in the sky and then framing it up as an accident."

"I wouldn't put it past her." Biara growled. "That fox may have been a little dense…okay, very dense, but he wasn't hurting anybody. Woodlanders supposedly pride themselves on restraint, but it looks like Flynn may have missed that lesson."

Saveaux nodded as well, pondering the irony of the situation he found himself in. Nallmian could only imagine what a writer must have been thinking of a situation like this. Ten strangers dragged from their lives and thrown into a life or death situation, vendettas, old rivalries, a mysterious murder…he could sell that to any publisher or private library in the world. It had all the makings of a great story, but if they played by the Professor's rules, he might not survive long enough to write it.

Nallmian glanced behind them, as he and occasionally Biara had been doing periodically, then, resumed talking. "Now, her new companions are going to restrain her for a little bit. They have their own goals to follow, and at least initially they're going to use the two against one argument to get her to go along with their plans instead of getting homicidal on us. That might last for a little while, but I think Flynn's going to turn them around to her way of thinking. That hare might think he's the leader, after getting everyone to agree to the split up on his terms, but I don't think he's going to be able to rein her in for very long, and the other one, Desmond, doesn't seem to care that much either way. Woodlanders may like dressing up their hierarchies like something more egalitarian, but it's not going to last. A poncey little aspiring do-gooder like Quincy up against a tough, bashing-in-skulls type like Flynn? Somebody is going to end up wearing the slacks in that group, and I'll tell you right now it's not going to be Quincyetta. We need to get out of here before the garment transfer happens, or else find a way to defend ourselves when it does."

"Definitely. Besides, who knows how long this peace phase of his is going to last? For that matter, do we have any real proof that it's genuine in the first place?" Biara said, frowning. "Hares like to act chivalrous, but that goes out the window pretty quickly as soon as it suits them. For all we know, Quincy could be some sort of spy, or an assassin of some kind. He might not seem like it, but the very fact that you're talking about how a 'poncey little aspiring do-gooder' will never hold his own against anyone makes that the perfect cover, the perfect act."

"You have a point there. Actually, you have a big point. He may be a little loopy in his ideas about species interactions, but he hasn't been nearly as much of a pushover as I thought. I haven't been able to browbeat him into doing what I want, and apparently nobody else has either, at least so far. I guess you do know a little about the subject of facades…" Nallmian said, noting Biara's raised eyebrow, but not elaborating. "Anyway, it's good to be with someone who can think again. Before dinner I had an infuriatingly annoying chat with the servants, followed by Flynn making threats and trying to scare me."

"After seeing you at dinner, I can only imagine how that must have gone." Biara said, smiling.

Nallmian laughed. "She threatened me, waved a knife around, and so forth. I talked her down a bit on the basis of her not getting herself thrown out on her rump before anything could happen or she could get what she wanted out of this. That reminds me, she thinks somebody here killed her Skipper. The Professor sends a couple of servants to tell her that he magically knows who did it…and she believes him. This despite the fact that he somehow seemed to know ahead of time that the Skipper was going to die. I get the feeling that she was a little skull-bashingly, internal-organs-ripping-outingly angry to begin with, and now she's worse. Once the professor gave his little speech, I figured I needed to find someone else who needed to find a way to keep the otter away. Even if she doesn't persuade Quincy, she may decide to ditch the other two and come after us anyway. I don't get the impression that calm, deliberate decision making is her strong point"

The stoat turned and gave Biara a slightly crooked smile. "And besides, I have the feeling you like healing for a few reasons more than you let on to the woodlanders. I saw you laughing into your napkin while the hare was squirming. I saw you relishing every bite of that bird. Come on, we're both vermin, both carnivores. Look me in the eyes and tell me that when you make that ever-so-perfect little cut and watch the skin and the gristle and muscle slice open and peel back and see and feel and smell the blood welling up hot and red and full of life, something in you doesn't sing a little bit."

Biara looked at Nallmian with her face the picture of innocence. "Must everyone always be so suspicious all the time? First the otter, and now you?" She sighed, as though weary of good intentions constantly thwarted by small minded discrimination. "Nobody wants to believe that a simple working martenness just feels all sunny and happy inside when she stitches up a squirrel or mends a hare's broken leg and sees their brightly shining faces." There was a a moment of silence as she held that look of wounded innocence, followed by first Biara and then Nallmian cracking a smile , both of them grinning at what they knew to be the sheer absurdity of this statement.

"I think I am going to enjoy working with you, Biara." Nallmian said. "Which brings me to what we ought to do next. I've spent most of my life in a castle. It might not be quite like this one, but it's still the same idea for the same purpose. Castles always have secret entrances and exits. You can use them to send scouts or couriers out discreetly, bring in supplies securely, or in the event of a siege get some of your forces out around the enemy's flank to attack them from two angles.

"Who knows entrances? Can…read maps, can read blueprints…but need to fiiiind one." Saveaux croaked out. Indeed, if only the newt had access to a good, detailed schematic of the castle, he probably could have found such an exit fairly quickly, but the only maps he had found where the vague, probably unreliable maps in the guest rooms.

"And that's our problem. At least, it was until I started thinking about the servants. Falliss had to have told some of them about any hidden passages, if for no other reason than to make sure we couldn't get at them and end his game early. They also probably know where any hidden stashes of supplies or weapons are, and what parts of the castle are easiest to defend in an emergency, such as if Flynn overrules her companions or the badger goes all red eyed, although that last one looks less probable than maybe I originally thought. Not to mention that even if the Professor says they aren't supposed to hurt anybody, I'm not completely convinced. I think I'd like to pare down their numbers a bit. What do you say we grab one of them, and then you can show Saveaux and I all the awful injuries that can happen to careless servants if they don't watch what they're doing. And maybe I can manage a demonstration of proper woodlander negotiation technique, too." Nallmian said, with a rather wicked smile.

"Hmm. That might work. That could definitely work. Even if they can't or won't direct us to an exit, maybe we can at least get some better information about the professor, or the other guests. Not to mention the value of the blown off steam."

The newt, meanwhile was not nearly as enthusiastic about this idea, looking highly  
disturbed at Nallmian's suggestion. "Torrrrccchhh….torture?"

"Well, yes, Saveaux. I don't think Falliss' zombies are just going to tell us whatever we want to know out of the goodness of their hearts. I suspect their answer of choice is going to be something along the lines of 'I fail to understand, please restate your query,' a phrase they managed to use on me way more times than any regular being could use it. When I was rushing about trying not to get caught in a melee after the speech, one of them actually took the time to lecture me on how unsafe it was for me to be running with sharp objects in my paws. This after the owl had stated his intention for nine of us to die! Either they think this is some colossal joke, or they just don't get what's going on. So we make sure that they know that we're serious and that if they don't tell us something useful quickly, it's not going to be fun for them. It's a simple concept, and I think it's the only thing that'll work here." Nallmian said, impatient with explaining such an elementary idea.

Biara was a bit more tolerant in her response. "I know you probably don't like the idea, Saveaux, but think about what's happening here. The crazy owl wants all of us to kill each other, and he's not going to let us out until we play his game by his rules. Don't think about the servants, think about all the beasts who won't die sad deaths like the poor little fox because we'll all be able to get out of here before anybody else gets hurt or killed."

The newt was clearly having difficulty with this idea. On the one claw, this was the sort of difficult decision the heroes always wound up making, between abstract and concrete principles that were often in conflict with one another. On the other claw, though, the servants may have been a bit unnerving, but surely they didn't deserve to be carved up like food just because they were in the way.  
"Ask, but noooo kill." Saveaux said firmly.

"Oh, come on Saveaux." Nallmian sighed. "Interrogation is a messy business. Things get cut or broken that should remain whole, things get put in or taken out that shouldn't be, normal physical processes get tampered with, and blood winds up on the outside rather than on the inside. That might be a tall order considering what these servants may wind up being like under duress."  
Saveaux didn't speak in response, but looked at Biara with wide, imploring eyes, visually pleading with her to back him up. To Nallmian's surprise, Biara smiled pleasantly and nodded.  
"Of course, Saveaux. We'll be sure to check and make certain they're still alive when we leave the room."  
Nallmian tilted his head quizzically, and started to open his mouth to object, but Biara winked at him when Saveaux wasn't looking, and he nodded in response. "Right, right. They'll be alive when we go in, and they'll be alive when we go out."

"Then…is fine, maybe."

"Glad you see it our way, mate." Nallmian said cheerfully. "Oh, one more thing, though." The stoat fished out two of the knives he had and offered them to Biara. "I figure you'd want something better than a scalpel in case Fishbreath comes after us or the Professor decides we're not dying quickly enough. I figure a healer's got to be handy with knives."

"You figure correctly." Biara tucking one away in her bag while stopping to examine the other. "These are nice. Compliments of the Professor?"

"Yes. He wanted us to get to the killing badly enough to leave a room full of weapons unlocked." The stoat turned to Saveaux. "What about you, Saveaux? This is technically a throwing javelin, but if it's too big for you to use it like that, it would make a decent spear, too." The newt, far from looking happy at the proferred weapon, looked distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect. Nallmian sighed.

"Come on, I know you're not exactly a professional warrior, but you need something. If anything does happen, we need you to be able to defend yourself enough that it's three on whatever rather than two on whatever. "

The newt relented, taking the offered javelin, although still looking a little bit unhappy with it. Nallmian paused and took a small amount of brown powder out of a bag he was wearing, quickly slipped it into his mouth and swallowed it after a moment, then grinned widely. "Much better. Now, let's go snag us a servant."


	28. The Flowers You Gave Me Are Rotting

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 26. The Flowers You Gave Me Are Rotting****  
**

_by Raine  
_

Raine let her paws carry her to wherever they wanted to go. Her mind definitely wouldn't be coming out of its protective shell in a very, very long time, not after what just happened.

The horrific events didn't seem real, and Raine wondered if they really were. But then she chided herself; it was too crazy a thing to think, especially after having witnessed the reactions of her fellow castle inhabitants/prisoners. And what reactions, too! The way some were already glaring at each other even before the arrival of the Professor…She'd expected them to jump at each other's throats. It didn't happen, of course, but was that necessarily a _good_ thing?

Her pawsteps lead her up the stairs and toward a light from the large door that was slightly ajar. The flicker of what was now obviously candlelight shook and shivered across the thin crack, and unto the opposite wall. Raine thought she heard the taps of somebeast walking rather ploppily across the stone masonry and trying hard to not sound like he was doing so.

Unwilling to intrude, but at the same time not wanting to be by herself, which also included a company of the most unwelcome thoughts, she pushed open the door.

Raine gasped at what she saw. Rows and rows... of books! Listening had never been her strong point, which explained why she didn't just dash out of the castle the moment her emotional-as-an-ice-cube guide had mentioned the existence of the Library. A library was, the outer recesses of her thinking now reminded her unhelpfully, quite full of words, beautiful and poisonous…

The newt from before was perched on a small stool and holding a candle to the titles of the books on the highest shelf. Directly beside him there appeared a medium-sized mound of more than thirty books, scattered like playing cards.

"Haaah..lo," He coughed out, wrinkling his eyebrows at her, possibly to indicate a sense of confusion at her appearance, but Raine was filled with a new sense of urgency, and had no time to play games. Her mind processed the information like a juggernaut. _Saveaux, can't talk, loves to read.! _

"Tell me," she said quietly, backing away as far as possible from the darkened shelves but trying to maintain her sense of urgency at the same time, "Exactly what's in those books. _All right_," she added, when Saveaux looked at her hopelessly, "Just show me then. No, not from the books themselves! I meant, auugh, _express!_"

Thus followed one of the most contortive moments in the history of face expression, where the newt, after gurgling briefly, attempted to perform "Someone who is Eating Something That is Not Entirely Pleasant and at the Same Time Hears the Ominous Sound of a Sharp Pointy Object Right behind His Neck".

She sighed, forcing herself not to panic, and then proceeded to put a warm smile on her face. "Thank you, sir. I'll be going now. Um… good night, I'm sure you'll need it." She went red and hurried out of the cursed place as quickly as possible, almost knocking into a squirrel that had just rounded the corner. His moody face told her all she needed to know, and the mouse stepped crossed the hallway, into her room, and shut the door.

Her room was much more extravagant than the simple den she'd been used to, but this seemed the wrong time and place to appreciate it. It wasn't, however, as awesome as her old dorm room, back at the Abbey.. No, the little nook had more memories intangled within it than she cared to remember..

Growing up in the Abbey as an ordinary mousemaid, as soon as she could walk and read Raine devoured the whole Abbey library, to the point where it became an obsession. She fiercely believed in the things that were written on the pages, and dreamed about becoming a great heroine like Mariel and Song and Tiria and the rest. And when a creature goes through life with such conviction, _it's bound to come true_- at least, in their own mind. Unbeknowst to her, the tiny seed of the Story was planted right from that very moment.

So it was on a winter's night, when they were visiting their relatives up north, that her family was slaughtered. By vermin, of course- how could it be anything else? At the time she didn't think any further than measuring the extent of her loss, and getting out of the fray alive. Raine convinced herself that her baby brother was going to be fine; she'd hid him well enough, and when she'd gotten to a nearby safe place they'd get some proper warriors to bring him back.

Unfortunately, when she'd gotten to the village her mind was made up. She would forget about her brother, forget he'd ever existed. It was the most frightening and the easiest thing she ever did. After all, he'd been born at their relatives' den, and all the witnesses were dead. She told the villagers her story, omitting the brother part entirely, of course.

They'd stood in awe and pity at this mousemaid who'd come through so bravely. She'd felt anything but brave, only ashamed at what she'd become. And the reaction was the same when she got back to the Abbey- admiration, and respect. Raine couldn't care less. She didn't care about anything anymore- On reflection, she'd decided her life was a complete waste. The creatures who had loved her most weren't there- not to comfort her, not to scold her. Her heart felt as hollow as the cookie jar in the Abbey kitchens.

That's when the dreams started coming.

The mouse had inadvertently ordered Standard Hero Package #1, delivered by the founder of Redwall, Martin himself.

_And the Story of her soul was feeding on the twisted, dark words in the library.._She shivered and clutched her blankets closer. _It wants to be avenged. _

-------

Raine relaxed when no one heard her enter the dining room. Late. Well, it wasn't her fault she had overslept! But judging by the others' faces, she hadn't missed much; just breakfast and a lot of bickering. What were they arguing about, anyway?

The hare, Quincy, was doing most of the talking. She sidled up to catch more of the conversation, accidently bumping into the same squirrel from last night. He was wearing striped pajamas. _Um, informal much?_ Desmond turned around with haughty disdain on his face, which was, oddly, the perfect look on him. Raine blushed and looked away, mumbled something about not looking her best in the mornings.

"...Have you heard about what happened to that buffoon of a fox?" Desmond said aloofly, and sipped his tea with the expression of somebeast who undeniably has, yet doesn't really care.

"Uh, no. What?" She glanced around the room, suddenly fully aware of the subdued atmosphere. Her eyes contracted. "Not.. dead?"

"Indeed. You didn't know? They say his body's in the armory, quite incapacitated.. Or should I say... decapacitated?" He chuckled lightly. "Those idiot servants have probably removed it, though. And good riddance, I say. Hey-" The squirrel called at her rapidly retreating figure.

She felt too sick at his reaction to listen. _No! Somebeast had died already? But it couldn't be! _She felt an insurmountable pity for the fox._ I don't know you, but I hope you're in a better place, _She thought. _Now I'll really put all my effort into getting every single creature out. Not just me. So soon… The Story is working too fast- No! I can't continue believing that! _Then, almost absentmindedly she wondered, _Who did it…? It could be anybeast in this room, but I guess that's only to be expected. Well, time to really pay attention. Who's guilty and who's not? Let's start with that incredibly talkative hare over there. _

"..Need to get this castle searched as quickly as possible and the best way to do it is by splitting up. The fairest way to do this, of course, is by choosing groups at random..."

At random? To her, that seemed like a very sensible idea. No way could her Story affect that, not if someone else was doing the drawing. The tallish stoat, what was his name, Nallmian? Yeah, he was the one Raine was most worried about. If the killing disease was infectious, then it would spread from him to everybeast, no matter what their species was. And, furthermore, if Nallmian could choose, he'd most likely want to be with his vermin counterparts…Not good. No matter what the Professor said or didn't say, old alignments would the hardest to shake off.

Her thoughts were eerily justified when disagreements rang from almost everywhere in the room. Delighted to have a chance to be simply _different_, she eagerly voiced, "Ooh, come on, let's give it a go! Who knows, it might even turn out to be fun!" Raine added a cute giggle for extra effect. _Yes, indeed, this is quite fun already. I'm such an amazing actress! Yep, hook, line, and…_

_Sinker! _The hare looked relieved at her reaction. Excellent. The rest would be up to him, of course, but now he wouldn't give up without feeling guilty of letting her down. Sure enough, he bustled out of the room with the equivalent of a light-bulb flashing on in his eyes, and returned with some sticks. She went past the basic incredulity to the details of what was clutched in his paw. Different sticks of different sizes… His excited tone jerked her back to the situation at paw.

"Well, twigs, technically speaking. I swiped them from a broom I found in the hall. As you can see, I hold nine twigs in my paw: three short, three long, and three of medium length. One at a time you'll come forward and draw a twig. You'll then match up your twigs with whichever two of us have drawn the same length as you. Then those will be our groups."

Raine walked up with no hesitation, and so did a wildcat with a pleased look on her face. _Hmph.. at least somebeast agrees with me._ They both grasped a stick, and moved back into the silent crowd, realizing as they did so that they had the same length twig. The mousemaid began to grin and Kima could not stop a laugh.

"Hey-what's the joke?" A badgermaid (-_no,_ lady, Raine thought, _you could tell_) walked up to them. "I'm in your team, too, in case you didn't know," she added awkwardly, the stick held delicately between two claws. "Hi, Kima." She greeted the wildcat like an old friend, the mouse noted. Raine's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly before reverting to their usual wide state.

"So you're Kima," she started casually. "I'm Raine. Nice t'meetcha. And you are…?"

"Rhea," said the badger lady. She turned back to Kima, her voice low and grave. "We have to find a way out of here. Without anybeast getting hurt. But it looks like that's going to be impossible, if that fox on the floor is any clue."

"True, however-"

Not used to being ignored, the other member of the team cut in. "-we could certainly get the information from a servant."

"Not going to work," said Rhea flatly, while Kima put in, "Yes. We tried that already- well, pretty much. The professor's minions are as unpassable as rocks. The gate guards couldn't be bribed, not even with gold." Her shocked tone indicated that this was an unforgivable offense in her book.

Rhea nodded in agreement. "So that idea's out of the question. I think we ought to start looking around- maybe there's a secret passageway or something in a place we haven't looked at. Why don't we start from the bottom up?"

"Or," said Raine slowly, "maybe the servants are only as unpassable as rocks if you don't know the lever that moves them."

Rhea scoffed. "And how do you propose to do that?"

"Just a few little mind tricks.. I mean, I'm pretty sure some of them have things they want to hide. Purely for escaping purposes, you understand."

"Huh. I have to say, you don't look like the type to interrogate a servant. Not properly, anyway. Leave it to Nallmian and his team. Presumably vermin have more experience with these matters."

Raine spotted the aforementioned group. Her stomach clenched. So they were together after all.

"You know, for some reason I don't think they're going to be very careful about it." The mouse sniffed. "I can do better. And inflict a lot less damage...physically. Remember 'sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me"? Like that."

The wildcat twitched. "I don't think it's supposed to be interpreted like that. Anyhow.." She cleared her throat, and whisked out a gold coin from the pocket of her tunic. "Fair's fair. Fancy a flip?"

-------

Raine sighed.

_Ah. So _that's _why I'm in this smelly slimy basement._


	29. Is This The Real Life?

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 27. Is This The Real Life? Is This Just Fantasy?****  
**

_by Desmond  
_

_She was beautiful._

_Desmond needed no more invitation than her smile – alluring, warm – to approach the squirrelmaid. She accepted his offered paw, and they whirled into a dance, waltzing deliciously around the ballroom, filled with distinguished guests. Desmond guided her slowly to one of the corners where the shadows would hide them from prying eyes. She smirked up at him, having read his mind._

_"I believe it's customary to introduce oneself before making advances, sir," she breathed teasingly into his ear._

_"Customary, but a complete bore." Desmond stared at her and then blinked. "Lisa?" he asked in surprise._

_"Your own," she replied. "Kiss me, darling, it's been ages…"_

_"You can't be," he said sharply, pushing her away. "You're…"_

_"Dead. You killed me."_

_She was Estella! Her voice was flat as her blank eyes stared into his._

_Desmond felt a silent scream rip through his throat. "Go away!" he shrieked, clawing at his paws, trying to rid them of the cold feeling that her touch had left. "I don't want you! Leave me alone!"_

_She advanced toward him, forcing him back into a corner. "You don't deserve to be alone." Her paws reached for his throat, and he could imagine the moment when they would strangle him with their embrace…_

Desmond woke to find himself face-down in the pillow, gasping for breath. The sheets were tangled uncomfortably around him, and he spent several minutes extricating himself from their silken grasp. The squirrel squinted around his chamber, letting his eyes adjust; it was morning, and much earlier than he was accustomed to waking. He always slept badly in new surroundings, and this had been no exception, despite the comfort of the bed.

The memory of the dream filled his head, and he frowned thoughtfully. It had been ages since he'd even thought of Lisa, much less dreamed of her. They'd only been married for a season before he'd effectively sent her into exile…

Desmond pushed the dream – especially the ending, which made him shudder – from his thoughts and dragged himself out of bed. He caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror on the wall and croaked in dismay. He was an absolute mess. Ravenous though he was, it simply wouldn't do to go down to breakfast and let everybeast see him in this state. The squirrel sighed and looked around for his comb – he could have sworn that he'd left it on the nightstand the day before…

Quite abruptly, he stopped and laughed.

"It doesn't matter," he said aloud and leered at the mirror. All but one of them were going to die anyway – what did it matter what he did anymore? He could do anything he liked!

And that is precisely why he went down to breakfast clad only in his striped pajamas.

*

Breakfast was uneventful. Biara, took note of his unconventional garb with a raised eyebrow and a snide remark - "Did you forget something?"

Desmond smirked. "I simply realized that certain things are no longer as important. You should all try it, it's terribly comfortable."

Her expression remained unconvinced. "Well, let's hope you don't catch cold."

The squirrel helped himself to food and sat down in his chair, the same one he'd had the night before, and thoroughly enjoyed himself. The toast was perfect, and the tea was strong, the way he liked it. And, of course, halfway through his meal, Quincy burst in and ruined the whole thing. At least, he mused, as he held up his spoon to check his teeth for crumbs, he was still alive, which was more than could be said for Sootpaws.

But Quincy, of course, couldn't leave it at that; there would have to be organization. Desmond mentally sighed. Just when he'd decided to enjoy himself, too.

Still, he got up with the rest when the time came to draw straws, and when he pulled one of the shortest twigs, he looked around curiously to see which of the other eight were in his group.

_Oh 'gates_, he fumed silently. That pansy of a hare and possibly the most unattractive female in the whole room, the windbag of an otter who called herself Flynn. Desmond had never liked female warriors, even the pretty ones; their looks were always entirely wasted on them. And they usually hid weapons under their clothing, which made things awkward.

"Well," said Quincy, "I guess we're in this together."

"Pity," Desmond remarked. "Because I don't like either of you."

Quincy eyed him, disdain touching his face. "Regardless, I think you understand how important it is to work together." He paused. "Aren't you a little underdressed?"

"If I'm facing the possibility of dying any minute, I think I at least deserve to be comfortable in the meantime," the squirrel snapped.

"Suit yourself," said Quincy coldly. "But if we're lucky, we'll find a way out of this soon." He looked at Flynn. "Any ideas for what we should search for?" he asked.

"We need to find the professor," Desmond said quickly, before the otter could speak. "He's the key to all of this. And I have a… matter to discuss with him." He closed his mouth tightly. He still had no idea where – or who – Helena was, or even if she existed. The invitation, he remembered with a jolt, had said that she was Falliss's niece, but when he'd received it, he'd assumed that his host was a squirrel like himself. He certainly hoped he hadn't come all this way just to meet an _owl_. Perhaps "Niece" was just an endearing term…

Flynn shrugged. "Sounds fine to me," she said. "Let's get started."

*

They began their search in the vacant bedroom next to Flynn's, checking the walls and behind the furniture for any switches that might trigger the door to a hidden passage. Desmond gave his half-hearted help, sitting down on the bed half-way through and watching the other two finish. He could almost _see_ Quincy getting angry with him, and he laughed inwardly when the hare spun around and exploded.

"Look, the only way this is going to work is if we all do our share!" He glared at the squirrel.

"You should have considered who you wanted to be assigned to before you made everyone draw straws," Desmond returned coolly. "I'm sure you could have found a way to make it happen."

He saw Flynn out of the corner of his eye, staring at him with disgust. "Are you saying we should have cheated? Well, I wouldn't put it past you to have done so!"

Desmond raised his eyebrows incredulously. "You think I'd cheat to end up with you lot? Don't flatter yourself, darling, I have more refined taste."

"Yes, we know, you don't like us," Quincy snapped. "The feeling's mutual. But the longer you let us do all the work, the longer we're going to be locked up in this place."

The squirrel opened his mouth and then closed it again when one of the servants, a male rat, appeared in the doorway.

"Excuse me," said the beast flatly. "The master has asked that no one touch anything in this room." He eyed Desmond, who was bouncing slightly on the springy mattress. Desmond grinned.

"You should try it," he said. "It might put a smile on that face." He laughed at the absurdity of the idea and slid off the bed.

The rat waited in silence until all three had exited the room and then closed the door and glided off to find other rules to enforce, no doubt.

"Well," said Quincy. "I suppose we'd better move on, then." He turned his gaze to Flynn. "Would you mind us searching your room?"

She shrugged. "I searched it myself, but feel free."

They filed into the otter's room, but the search was brief and turned up nothing. Desmond pointed to the writing desk, which was unlocked and empty.

"Was this empty when you first got here?" he asked Flynn.

"I don't know," she replied. "It was locked when I arrived, and whoever opened it did so while I was out of the room."

"There doesn't seem to be anything hidden here, unless you count the weapons," Quincy spoke up, a disapproving tone coloring his voice.

Flynn turned to face him. "I like to be prepared," she said, her voice harsh. "Just because I'm willing to work with whoever I have to doesn't mean that everybeast feels the same way. I'd rather be safe than dead."

Quincy opened his mouth to reply, but Desmond cut in.

"Yes, well, I'm sure it would be lovely to spend our time on a philosophical discussion, but I think our time would be better spent continuing our search." He cleared his throat and led the way out the door.

They stopped outside the next doorway and Desmond looked at the other two. "What room is this?" he asked.

"The ballroom," Flynn replied. "One of the servants gave me a tour," she explained to Desmond's questioning expression.

They pushed through the double doors. Desmond looked around with interest; the large room was lit, surprisingly – probably so the servants could clean, he mused. A bow with the string cut was leaning neatly against the wall next to the entrance with a little pile of broken arrows next to it. Desmond wondered how on earth they'd gotten there. He wandered around the edge of the room, admiring the paintings hung on the walls. Mad or not, Falliss had impeccable taste.

"Desmond! Quincy! C'mere!" The command was issued in a loud stage whisper. Desmond looked over at Flynn and saw she was in the center of the room, gesturing for the other two to follow her. The squirrel and the hare did so and she silently led them to the door that presumably led to a powder room. The door was slightly ajar, and Desmond started when he heard voices from within. The three crowded around to listen.

"…and I believe I informed you that I am fully capable of attending to my work without you going behind my back." There was a hint of irritation in the business-like voice.

"I have no idea what you're referring to, Jeremy." Desmond craned his neck to try to see the speakers but the door wasn't open far enough to give any of them a good view.

"The imposter, Sootpaws," said Jeremy impatiently. "You killed him, didn't you. After the professor asked me to see to it."

"That's ridiculous. I was nowhere near the armory when he died." Their tones were becoming heated, Desmond noted with interest. It was the first time he'd seen – or heard, rather – any of the servants display emotion.

"This wouldn't be the first time you've tried to take my place, Agatha," Jeremy said sharply. "No matter what you try, the professor isn't going to promote you just because you go behind my back. I'll thank you to tend to your own business from here on."

Flynn frowned at the other two. "Sootpaws's death was an accident," she whispered. "No one killed him."

Quincy signaled for her to be silent.

"Think what you like," Agatha said flatly. "I haven't done anything out of turn. And the professor _will_ promote me, when he realizes that I was made better than you were."

"What on earth?" Desmond muttered. "What an odd thing to say."

Quincy elbowed him in the side to silence him, but unfortunately, the action didn't achieve success. Desmond yelped, alerting the two servants of their presence. The three moved back from the door and attempted to look nonchalant as Jeremy stepped out, his straight face belying the irritated tone he'd used only moments before.

"Forgive us," said Quincy politely. "We were just exploring. You seem to be quite busy, so we'll just get out of your way." He smiled and motioned for the other two to follow him.

Desmond looked around thoughtfully as they left the ballroom. He wanted to dance. He missed dancing.

He stopped in surprise when Quincy whirled around to face the other two. "Did you hear them? What do you suppose she meant, 'I was made better than you were'?"

"Makes no sense to me," Flynn admitted, rubbing her forehead.

Desmond just shrugged. "Whatever it means," he remarked, "One thing is quite clear: the servants aren't as lifeless as they pretend to be." He smiled suddenly. The little squirrelmaid he'd met the day before just might be worth pursuing after all…

Quincy nodded, though his mind was doubtless not going along the same lines as the squirrel's. "That could be useful." He poked his head into the next room and then gestured them toward the door. "Shall we adjourn to the lounge?"

Desmond's shoulders sagged. And they were still on the first floor! He had a feeling that the day could only get worse.

Unfortunately, he was right.


	30. The Small Print

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 28. The Small Print****  
**

_by Biara  
_

"Pardon me!"

A dead-eyed squirrel looked up from where he was polishing a suit of armor in the hallway just in time to avoid getting bowled over by a clearly over energetic pine marten.

He tried very hard to keep his temper under control as he watched the healer scurry off around a corner. Scrubbing away, the squirrel grit his teeth in frustration, glad that, at the very least, nobeast was around to witness such an unsightly outburst of emotion. A menial job like cleaning out ancient bucklers and helms was a chore usually reserved for servants much younger than he. But Jeremy had issued the orders himself, and as such there was nothing he could do other than get the job finished as quickly as possible.

--

"It really is quite impressive," Biara whispered, only half to the rest of her team mates, on the other side of the wall. "You would think anybeast would get a good scare from nearly being mown down, but this one didn't even flinch. Fascinating."  
These servants were unlike any other beast the marten had ever came across before, or worked on for that matter. Her claws flexed in anticipation.

Nallmian spoke up after a moment, jarring the marteness somewhat. "Well, we have the room and we have our servant. Now, to put two and two together." He glanced toward Biara. "I assume you have something in mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Biara reached into her medicine bag and came back with a needle attached to a hollow glass tube filled with some sort of strange liquid. Despite himself, Nallmian took a wary step away and the marten healer chortled softly. When it came down to it, everybeast from a sniveling little rat pup to a fully grown stoat feared the needle. It was one of her favorite tools.

"In case I hadn't mentioned already," Nallmian commented with the twitch of an ear, "I'm very glad that you're on my side. If I might ask, what is that?" Saveaux nodded, curiosity winning out over fear. This was something he had never read about before.

"It's a special sort of dart," Biara explained. "I received this one from my old tutor. There's a very mild toxin in this tube that's channeled through the hollow needle. It isn't lethal, of course, but it will knock the beast out for a good time. Or at least, it should. I haven't really had a chance to use this one in a while." The marteness rubbed at her scar for a moment as she glanced at the needle tip. "Well, practice makes perfect!" Giving the instrument a fancy little twirl, she smiled winningly at her two companions. "All I need is a suitable distraction."

Saveaux cringed as both the stoat and pine marten glanced towards him. "N..oooottt faaiiiirr!"

"Come on, mate, it'll be easy!" Nallmian said, clapping the stoat on the back. "Besides, I don't care how "neutral" those creepy servants say they are, I'd still bet an acorn to an apple that he'd be much less suspicious of you than I or Biara. What do you say?"

The scholarly newt dithered for a moment, unsure of what to do. It was a special mission just for him, and he had to admit that being the one that the others had to depend on wasn't a bad thing at all. But… he wasn't so sure he liked the fact that in being the hero, he would inevitably lead an innocent beast to be torn apart. But, he reminded himself grimly, these were the very same servants who could potentially hurt him in the future. It was only self-defense. Steeling his nerves, Saveaux scurried around the corner.

--

_Finally._

The servant stepped back from the last painting in the line down the hallway, glad to be finished at last. Casting a critical glance upon his handiwork, the squirrel was about to be on his way when the sound of somebeast noisily clearing its throat caught his attention. Turning around, he noticed a strange little creature staring up at him inquisitively. Of course, he had been briefed on all of the Professor's guests, but until that moment, he had yet to actually lay eyes on the newt in person. He bowed politely. "Good morning, Sir Saveaux. Is there anything I can do for you?"

The newt froze. He had been so intent on his job of a decoy that he wasn't exactly sure of what he was supposed to say. "… H… Hhooo…w… arrr… yuuuu…?"

The squirrel stared down at Saveaux. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Please repeat your question."

_Well, that worked like a dream._ Saveaux fumed inwardly. _Think! What would a beast of subterfuge and cunning say in order to properly divert one's attention?_ "C…cccoood… yuuu… sho..ooow… meeee…. Too… liiiibraa…aaryyy?"

"Of course, Sir." The squirrel nodded and turned around, pointing in the right direction. "It is on the third floor. Once you have ascended all of the stairs, it will be—"

With frightening speed, Biara tore around the corner and, grabbing the hapless creature in a tight choke hold, plunged the needle into his neck. His eyes widened with shock and Biara just nearly avoided a black eye from the panicked flailing of paws before he went limp. The marteness grunted as she struggled with the creature's full weight, and Nallmian hurried over to assist her.

"It looks like that got his attention!" Biara reported. "Now let's get moving before we're noticed."

--

With the added strength of Nallmian, the little group was able to drag their servant to the empty guest room that the stoat had specified earlier. Biara slipped the bolt home and turned to inspect the trappings of the room with a critical eye. It was sufficiently clean, not too cramped to work in, and nobeast was getting inside… or out. "This will do nicely."

"If you please, Miss Biara," the marten turned at the sound of her name to see Nallmian nod towards the squirrel. "I'll let you have the honor of this little interview."

Biara grinned. "Are you sure? I thought this was your area of expertise. And besides, I wouldn't want to take all the fun for myself."

"Oh, I'll be taking part, don't worry," Nallmian responded, "But ladies first and all that. Besides, I'm curious to see how you work."

Biara looked the squirrel over thoughtfully. Come to think of it, he _did_ rather resemble that brute, Desmond...

Nallmian noticed the sudden grin that stretched across Biara's face, but figured she was just looking forward to the interview. He leaned against the dresser, directing a chummy wink towards Saveaux as the pine marten bustled about the room. "This is gonna be great, eh, Savvy?" The newt offered a tremulous smile, although it was clear that he didn't exactly share his team-mate's enthusiasm. "Let's see him try and lecture us on proper safety procedures now!"

It didn't take long before everything was set up. Biara rather wished for a table big enough to accommodate her patient, as that was all the best for working on, but she supposed she would just have to make do with the bed. It was simple enough to slice the long sheet into strips, which she then used to tie the servants footpaws together and lash his arms to the two poles at the head of the bed. Lastly, she had dumped the contents of her medicine pouch on the bedside table, taking a moment to sort everything out.

The healer glanced lovingly along the line of her trusty tools, lingering on the scalpel at the end. Several seasons back, a younger Biara would have sneered at the tiny blades, but the marteness knew better now. These were tools that could be used to hurt or heal depending on the circumstances. Precise, neat and orderly; To Biara Sable, they were of more worth than even the greatest and most dangerous of swords.

Nallmian also admired the fearsome looking instruments, although he had to suppress a tiny shudder; He had never been enthusiastic about visiting the physician. Saveaux paced anxiously in the background as the marteness picked up one of the delicate blades and set to work.

The servant awoke to pain. His eyes fluttered and there was a moment of almost listless struggle, and then his situation hit him like a thunderclap. Standing above him was a pine marten; the same one who had nearly ran him down earlier. Except this time she clearly wasn't in any hurry, and he noticed with dismay the keen edge of her knife and the hungry glint in her eye. She smiled down at him. "Ah, there you are! I'm quite sorry for that, but I had to know whether or not you can register pain." The precise line that ran diagonally from the squirrel's left ear to his chin glistened wetly in the dim candlelight for just a moment before splitting open and flowing with crimson. The squirrel gasped. "Splendid! It seems you can."

Biara tapped the knife blade lightly against her chin as she spoke. "You see, I was a little worried, actually, whether or not you would. Judging from the way you lot have acted so far, I wouldn't have been surprised if you were simply incapable." The marten shrugged. "But it looks as if there's nothing to worry about after all."

"What are you doing?" The squirrel asked, keeping his face dutifully blank despite the pain. "I wish to know why you have imprisoned me."

The marteness glanced sidelong at the servant. "What am I doing? Surely you know the answer to that."

"I do not know, Miss Sable."

Biara sniffed. "Well, so much for being an honored guest." She glared regally down her nose, taking a moment to brush an invisible speck off her cloak before continuing. "As a professional medic, I was called in to assist a very sick and injured servant." She gestured to the squirrel himself and then to the rest of the room with a sweep of her paw as she explained, "My apologies that this isn't the best examining room, but it doesn't appear the castle has any better facilities."

The squirrel blinked, not comprehending. "But I am not ill or injured."

"Oh, my mistake." The pine marten grabbed the servant's arm in both paws and wrenched savagely. There was a hideous crunch as the bone splintered. "Now you are!"

Nallmian laughed aloud and Saveaux made a little mewling noise of protest, but strangely enough, the servant did not cry out. Oh, he flinched sure enough and a painful breath hissed from between clenched teeth, but it was clear that even now he was doing his level best not to drop his façade. Biara nearly giggled. "Good show! I knew it would take more than the usual to get to you, of course."

"I don't know, Biara," Nallmian quipped, brandished one of his own knives with a smirk. "He doesn't look nearly injured enough to warrant sending for a professional medic to me." The stoat circled the bed, pausing only to lunge towards the squirrel, who jerked back reflexively. "What do you think?"

Biara looked the servant over, making little deliberating noises all the while. Finally, she smiled, showing off needle-sharp teeth. "Quite. But, before we begin, I think its only fair that I know a little more about my patient. Let's start with a simple question. What's your name?"

The squirrel's eyes were as dead as ever, and yet Biara noticed that his paws were trembling ever so slightly. "I-I do not understand, please—"

The marten medic made a long incision across the squirrel's face, narrowly missing his right eye. "That's really annoying, you know." She flicked her ears back, digging viciously into the cut with her scalpel. "Typical for a woodlander, really. Now, listen carefully." She drew back, ignoring the squirrel's whimpers. "I want to learn as much about you as I can. You lot would make the perfect patients, you know. The way you conceal your emotions so well is fascinating. Are you really just good at hiding? Or are you really devoid of emotion?" The marteness twirled the instrument in her paw as she spoke.

"Your Professor isn't the only beast among us who likes experimentation. Now, I'm going to get my answers, one of two ways. One, you can continue pretending you don't understand me, but I'm just going to be forced to cut you open and see for myself." She smiled pleasantly, cutting a notch out of the squirrel's ear. "Not that I would mind that. You see, it's not often I get such a beautiful chance at learning paws-on."

"Do what you like with me, Miss Sable," the squirrel said, "but please know that if I am dead you will not learn anything. And also please take note that if you get any of blood on this bed, it will be very problematic to clean up afterward."

"Oh my!" Nallmian exclaimed, clapping a paw to his brow. "Pardon me while I swoon!"

Biara had to give her new patient credit; he really was trying. Still, his resilience bothered her, even if it was clear that he couldn't last much longer. The squirrel's paws were visibly shaking now and his breathing was labored.

"Who said anything about killing?" The marteness wrinkled her nose, pressing down on his paw near the wrist, as if checking for a pulse. "I'm a professional, remember? Fixing broken arms, if you'll pardon me, is my specialty." She punctuated the remark by suddenly pushing down hard and the squirrel's paw snapped back with a crunch. This time the he did scream. Biara clucked her tongue. "You really did deserve that one, forgetting and all." The servant squirmed as Biara repeated the process for each claw, chatting amiably as she went. "A simple stitch here, a bandage there and you'd be quite well again. And since I'm stuck in this little silly castle, I can continue experimenting as long as I please. A medic has to keep in practice, of course, no matter where she is!"

The servant's eyes rolled and he whimpered, sucking in air in strangled gasps. Biara brandished her scalpel nonchallantly. "We can see how well your body handles poisons, loss of blood and skin, blindness…

"Or you could just answer my questions." The healer lowered her ears, "Now that you mention it, I suppose it would be a bother having to clean up." Leaning over the squirrel, she set the blade up against the corner of his right eye just hard enough to coax out a tear. "What is your name?" She snarled.

"…..Bernard."

"There, see? Was that so bad?" Biara chided. "Really, I've had mousebabes carry on less than that."

Nallmian laughed. "Bernard? Hell's teeth, were all the good names taken in your village or something?"

"I was born in this castle," the squirrel murmured, "and so I was raised. The way we act… is the way that all civilized beasts should act." His previously flat tone was gone, replaced by a weary doggedness.

"Well, isn't that lovely?" Nallmian sneered, legging an elaborate mock bow. "Pardon me for being so uncivilized."

A flash of anger momentarily lit up Bernard's eye, but it was swiftly replaced. "I have never...before left this castle. We are not allowed to leave until we have... proven ourselves."

Biara nodded thoughtfully. "So, Bernard, if I understand correctly, you've been walking these halls ever since you were a kit?" She tapped the blade against the squirrel's narrow chest, "So I can trust that you would know about any special hidden exits that the Professor might be hiding from us?"

The servant lowered his gaze, "I do not know—"

Before he could protest, the marteness had dug her claws into his injured arm and started cutting away at the base of his ear. "No! Stop! I-I really don't know! You have to believe me!" The squirrel screeched.

"Nice try, squirrel," Nallmian sneered, eyes narrowed, "but we weren't born yesterday. I live in a castle like this one, and even when I was no more than a common paw soldier I knew where all the entrances and exits where."

Bernard appealed to Biara, who had paused long enough to hear him out. "I really don't know. Do what you will, but I still won't be able to tell you."

Saveaux watched with baited breath, hoping against hope that Biara would let the servant speak. After a suitable amount of time had passed, the squirrel let out an audible sigh of relief when the healer stepped back and nodded curtly. "Go on."

"There are things that not every servant is privy to," he admitted, his eye trained on the blade in Biara's paw. " As I said...we aren't allowed out until we prove ourselves, and even then... I'm sure we would use the main entrance."

"Yes, and thanks to a certain feline that's completely out of the question," Nallmian said, crossing his arms.

The pine marten healer tapped the scalpel blade against her chin, struck by a sudden thought. "Speaking of which, Kima, one of the other guests, mentioned something about a lottery. I'm sure that was nothing but a pack of lies, but I still can't help but wonder. Is there some sort of treasury hidden inside the castle walls?"

The squirrel panted hard. "None that I know of."

Biara held back a hiss of annoyance.  
"What kind of servant are you?" Nallmian snorted, voicing Biara's thoughts. "Is there anything you do know?"

Bernard spoke up quickly. "I'm afraid that most of the servants, myself included, won't be able to assist you much. Despite the nature of the Professor's experiment, we do not have any special orders other than to keep the castle orderly and to assist you when necessary. The only thing I can tell you about the castle itself is this." The squirrel gasped, forced to pause as a spasm rippled through his wrecked arm.

"There are.... certain areas of the castle...with pressure-sensitive pads." Saveaux, whose skin had turned a rather unhealthy shade of green as he paced back and forth, stopped dead, eyes widening. He stared intently at Bernard as the squirrel continued. "As for what they do, or their exact location...I could not tell you, as we have only found them by accident."

Nallmian nearly lost his balance as Saveaux, filled with a nervous energy, dashed from the room and slammed the door shut behind him. The stoat made as if to go and fetch the little scholar, when he apparently thought better of it and just locked the door again. "He'll be back," he said with a careless shrug. "After all, who knows what sort of terrible injuries could happen to a beast in this place?" He asked, winking at Biara.

The marten turned back to her prisoner. "Is that all?" She sighed, "Well, I suppose it's better than nothing."

"We are only... in charge of the grounds. The Master's living quarters are strictly off limits. Most have never seen the Professor at all."

Biara blinked. "You… haven't? But then how do you receive your orders?"

"From the head servant, of course." For a moment, the squirrel seemed to regain a glimmer of his previous attitude, as if Jeremy was somehow telepathically sending him strength. "Jeremy, a squirrel. He is the only one, besides Agatha, who takes orders from the Master. If there's anybeast who could assist you in your search, I'm quite positive it would be him."

Biara tittered gently. It was always interesting, the different ways beasts acted when you worked on them. _This one must think himself quite clever._ "Well, now we at least have something to work with." The marten clicked her fangs together thoughtfully, "You mentioned an Agatha just now. Who is she?"

"A rat...second in rank under Jeremy. She is still entrusted with quite a lot. And…" the squirrel's eyes shifted. "It is common knowledge that Agatha is… not fond of Jeremy. It would not come as a big shock to any of us if... did away with him."

Biara glanced over her shoulder at Nallmian, looking quite pleased with herself. The stoat smiled back at her. "Well, looks like our friend here isn't totally useless after all."

Placing her blade on the table, the marteness took a brief moment to adjust her cloak before turning back to the squirrel. She dipped her head courteously. "Thank you for your cooperation, Bernard."

"You will let me go?"

Biara smiled cheerfully. "Of course not!" Bernard moaned softly, and the healer patted his arm, letting her claws sink into the soft flesh, tut-tutting at his sobs. "Oh come now, do stop sniveling. It's not as bad as all that. You know, you're just like all those other silly woodlanders who I fix up all the time." Thoroughly disappointed, she wrenched her claws out with a squelch, turned neatly on her paw and started putting her instruments back in her medicine pouch.

"What are you doing?" The squirrel's voice was shaky.

"Hm? Oh, right." The marten explained as she packed up. "I promised little Saveaux that you would be alive when I still left, and I don't have the heart to lie to him." Picking up her favored scalpel, the marteness strolled to Bernard's side and the squirrel was forced to cough as Biara made a neat cut and severed his vocal cords. "Don't worry about payment; it's on the house."

--

No sooner had Biara and Nallmian left the room when Saveaux nearly ran into them. He looked suspiciously at the blood on the pine marten healer's tunic. "Nnoooo… kiiill?"

Biara nodded. "Of course not. I made sure to staunch any of the bleeding and I'll return to patch him up again when we're finished, I promise." _If he just so happens to choke on his blood while we're not there, well then, that's his own fault._

Saveaux offered a shaky smile in response. He was clearly feeling queasy, but at least seemed partially satisfied that Biara had not killed the beast in cold blood. She smiled back at him, the picture of nobility. "Now, where did you run off to in such a hurry?"


	31. Beast In the Beauty

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 29. Beast In the Beauty****  
**

_by Kima  
_

"Fair's fair. Fancy a flip?" Kima really couldn't care less whether they interrogated a servant or explored the basement first. They were stuck in this castle, anyways. Whatever they didn't do now, they could do later. Unless, of course, they found an exit somewhere. Best to just leave it to fate.

She rubbed her coin fondly, the one she had found lying under her bed. Good luck, that. Judging by the layers of dust, that was one place overlooked during cleaning. The wildcat glanced between Rhea and Raine. "Well?"

Rhea looked incredulous. "What is it with you and flipping coins? That's no way to make important decisions."

Kima rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. It's not like we're not already trusting ourselves to fate. You didn't have any problem drawing straws."

"Yeah, but that's different…" Rhea began, but it appeared she could think of nothing to say.

"It works for me," Raine shrugged, eyeing the coin speculatively. Her tail swished impatiently along the floor. It was clear she just wanted to get a move on, whatever that move ended up being.

"Right then!" Before Rhea could interrupt further, Kima grinned and held up the coin. "Heads, we go down into the basement. Tails, we go find a servant to interrogate." Showing both sides to her companions, the wildcat flicked the coin into the air and let it fall to the stone floor. All three watched as it bounced and tumbled, clinged and clanged, until finally it rolled over a crack and lay still.

Heads.

"Well, that's settled!" Kima scooped up the coin and deposited it back into her pocket with a pat.

Rhea was obviously pleased with this result. "To the basement we go."

It didn't take the trio long to descend the steps to the basement. Peeking into the first room they came to, Rhea paused. "This must have been that fox's room."

Kima peered around the badger to look at the room. It did appear to be a bedroom of some sort, as evidenced by the bedroll in the corner. But judging by the other contents, it found more use as a storage room. There was junk scattered about the floor, empty bottles with residues of alcohol. Boxes and barrels lay stacked against the walls in haphazard fashion. Clearly the servants didn't give much thought to keeping the basement in tiptop condition.

"Guess the Professor didn't like him very much," Kima mused.

"Maybe he found something in this room that he wasn't supposed to know about, and that's why he was murdered." Raine wandered further into the room, looking around with an almost dreamy stare. It was as if she expected the something – whatever it was – to just leap out and reveal itself.

Kima followed suit, gingerly stepping around broken glass on the floor. After a moment's hesitation, so did Rhea. On one box, a still half-full bottle sat open. Sniffing its contents, Kima wrinkled her nose. She had no idea what would lead someone to drink alcohol of any sort. "I wonder if the fox really was murdered."

"What…" Rhea grunted and shoved a stack of crates several inches away from the wall. "Do you mean?"

"Did you ever try talking to him? I did last night at dinner, and he didn't seem like the biggest book in the library, if you catch my meaning."

"Are you suggesting he somehow accidentally killed himself?" Rhea was now feeling along the wall, searching for some kind of secret lever. All that she found was very solid brick.

Kima set the bottle down and shrugged. "Wouldn't put it past him. Do you see all the empty bottles?"

"That's just, well…" Rhea trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Stupid." Flopping down onto the bedding, Raine stared at the ceiling. "Just like this search. I don't think there are any exits down…" The mouse froze suddenly, ears twitching. "Do you hear that?"

The wildcat padded closer to Raine, head cocked to one side. "Hear what?"

"Shh! Listen!"

Kima fell silent, listening intently. All she could hear was the breathing of those in the room. Her eyes settled on the mouse lying there right in front of her. She found herself intrigued by the way Raine's whiskers bobbed and twitched whenever there was a nose wiggle.

She wanted to touch them. Just one little stroke. Surely it wouldn't do any harm if she just touched them. Kima crouched down and began to reach forward, claws extended. Just a little more, and she could grab those lively, little pieces of string. They danced so enticingly…

"I don't hear anything."

Kima was broken from her reverie by Rhea's voice. Blinking, she wondered what exactly she was doing, and quickly retracted her paw before Raine asked that very question.

Thankfully, the mousemaid didn't seem to notice. She rolled to her footpaws and indicated the spot she had been lying. "Get down here. It's easier to hear."

Rolling onto her stomach, Kima again listened, this time staring straight ahead at the crate in front of her. And this time, she _did_ hear something. It sounded like a distant humming, and it was definitely not imagined. "I think it's coming from behind these crates." The wildcat leapt up excitedly. Slipping her claws between the wood and the stone, she grunted and tried to slide the stack of boxes out of the way.

They didn't budge.

Propping a footpaw against the wall, Kima leaned all her weight into her efforts. Still, the boxes didn't move. She looked at Raine and Rhea. "Uh, a little help?"

"Here, out of the way." Rhea strode purposefully over as Kima and Raine stepped back. Digging her claws into the small opening, the badger's face took on a look of intense concentration. Muscles flexing, she growled as the stack inched away from the wall, the most unpleasant grinding noise accompanying it.

Ears twitching in irritation, Kima watched in amazement as Rhea kept pulling. The wildcat had never seen many badgers, and this display of strength made her realize exactly why badgers were feared and respected the land over. She was very grateful this particular one wasn't trying to kill her. No amount of good luck would save her if it came to that, she was sure.

The sound of scraping wood faded away, and all three stared at what they had uncovered. A large, metal grate lay inset into the stone floor. Rust lay thick on the bars, the occasional fleck flaking away and disappearing into the black emptiness beneath. The silence in the room lay thick about them.

Finally, it was Rhea who broke the silence. "I still don't hear anything."

Raine stuck her ear close to the grate and listened. Nothing but silence. "It must have stopped."

Rhea snorted and sat down. "Are you sure you heard something?"

Raine glared at the badger. "Of course I did!"

Kima crawled up next to Raine, carefully avoiding looking at the mousemaid's whiskers. "What do you suppose this grate is for?"

"Probably for drainage or something." Rhea grabbed an empty bottle and began twirling it around in her paws. Her claws clinked musically against the glass. She glanced at her two companions. "Do you think it leads out of the castle?"

Kima sat up. "Now that's a thought." She rubbed the lucky coin in her pocket, even more glad that she had found it. It seemed fate had led them into the basement. And now, perhaps, they had discovered their exit. "It just might." Her ear twitched. _It'd be much easier to think without that noise…That noise!_

The sound from before had begun again, and now it was obvious that it had its source somewhere behind the grate. Louder than before, it was more distinguishable now as voices. What they were saying was anybeast's guess. A shiver tap danced its way up and down Kima's spine. "Fates, is this castle haunted?"

"Do you hear it now?" Raine giggled, smirking at Rhea. It wasn't a malicious smirk by any means. More along the lines of an I-told-you-so smirk.

Rhea was staring at the grate, bottle forgotten between her paws. "I do now. Do you suppose it's coming from outside the castle?"

"I sure hope so." Kima had taken a step away from the drain, eyeing it nervously. If it was ghosts and spirits, she didn't want anything to do with it.

"Think you could fit through there if I got it open?"

Kima assessed the hole beneath the grating dubiously. If push came to shove, she didn't doubt she could squeeze her way through. But it was dark and dank and quite possibly haunted. She sneezed. "I doubt it. Looks too small for me."

"I could probably manage it," Raine declared. She sounded excited about the prospect.

Kima sighed with relief and surreptitiously pressed her gold coin to her lips, now very, very thankful she had found it.

Rhea tossed the bottle aside, stood up, and rubbed her paws together. It almost looked as though she was trying to warm them up. "Right then. Move aside. I'll see if I can budge it."

Kima and Raine scrambled aside as Rhea crouched down over the grate. Grasping it firmly, she grunted and pulled, but to no avail. There was a low groaning noise, but that was it. The drain cover was bolted securely to the floor, and the bolts were now so rusted over that there wasn't much hope of removing them.

After several more tries, Rhea growled in frustration and stood up. "I don't think it's any use."

Secretly, Kima was glad. She had a hunch these drains wouldn't provide any kind of exit for them. Unfortunately, Raine now seemed fixated on the idea of crawling through the blasted things.

"I bet the other rooms have drains," the mouse suggested. "Maybe we could move one of them."

Rhea nodded. "That's a possibility."

Kima cringed, but she could think of nothing that would convince her two companions to change their minds.

And so the three left Sootpaws' room. They searched throughout the basement, going from room to room. Every drain they found was just as rusted and immovable as the first. And every drain had those ghostly voices echoing out of them, with the exception of the kitchen.

The kitchen was full of servants bustling busily about. They paid no attention to the three guests, but the din created by clattering pots and pans was so loud as to drown out any noise that may have come from the drainage grate.

Kima watched a squirrel stirring a large cauldron of soup. _They certainly seem to be cooking more food than is necessary for the ten…nine of us. I suppose they have to eat, though. I hope._ The cold efficiency with which the servants worked was still as unnerving to Kima as when she had first arrived at the castle. It just wasn't _natural_.

Writing the kitchen off as a wash, they moved on.

Eventually, the last room they needed to search was the cold storage room. Somehow, it was kept much colder than anywhere else in the basement – which was already chillier than the rest of the castle. Cheeses and eggs and all manner of perishable foods lined the walls. Breath fogging about them, it didn't take the three long to discover the drainage grate. It moved exactly as much as the others.

Raine looked distinctly disappointed. Although initially not much for the idea of searching the basement, the idea had grown on her since their discovery of the drains.

Kima, on the other paw, was actually rather relieved. The basement was beginning to creep her out, and she wanted nothing better than to go back upstairs where phantom voices didn't murmur indecipherable things.

And so it was that when Rhea needed to go upstairs for a cloak, Kima decided it was the perfect time to get out of the basement. Indeed, in the final rooms they had searched through, the badger had begun to lag behind. As the group ascended out of the cold, Rhea looked visibly better.

While passing through the first floor, a scent wafted out from beneath a door, catching Kima off-guard. She halted and breathed deeply. It smelled like – blood? The wildcat looked at Raine and Rhea. Both were ahead of her. A moment later, the two disappeared around the corner, leaving Kima standing there, indecision plain on her face.

Finally, curiosity got the better of her and, swallowing nervously, the feline grasped the door handle and pulled it open. Immediately, the scent intensified. What she saw had Kima covering her mouth in horror. A squirrel was tied to a bed, the sheets beneath him dripping wet and stained with crimson.

It was clear he was dead.

Kima was both horrified and fascinated. She had only ever seen one other dead creature, and that was at a funeral. Slowly walking forwards, she soon found herself standing directly over the poor thing. His eyes were open, his face fixed into an expression of pain.

Unable to stand the feeling that he was staring back at her, she reached down and closed the squirrel's eyelids. A thrill ran through her when she brushed the marred and bloody face. So this was what it was like to touch a freshly-dead beast. Slowly, Kima's paw moved down to the squirrel's neck, gently combing the matted fur. Caressing it.

It was a shame the squirrel was dead, but it felt so nice to just run her claws through his bloodstained pelt. To inhale the scent of the blood.

"What are you doing?"

Kima froze, claws entwined in wet chest fur. Turning around, she locked eyes with Raine.

The mouse was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Did…did you do this?"

Kima suddenly realized where she was. Looking at the squirrel with renewed disgust and dismay, she stepped quickly away. "No." She shook her head vehemently. "No, I found him like this. I…I was just seeing if he was really dead."

Raine looked as though she didn't fully believe that statement, but she didn't say anything more about it. "Come on. Rhea's upstairs already."

Kima nodded, pushing the squirrel as far from her thoughts as possible. As they made their way out of the room, Kima didn't glance back. Whatever had come over her, she wasn't sure she wanted any part of it. Absently licking her claws clean, the feline closed the door firmly behind her and the two headed upstairs.


	32. Geaux Team

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 30. Geaux Team****  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

Saveaux tripped and was sent falling to the floor, hitting the stones with a sound akin to fists beating against flesh. He remained on the floor, immune to the cold as all warmth had drained from his body the moment the interrogation had begun. Biara's face…

They had told him that it was necessary. Others would die, they said, if an exit was not found soon. A servant might know the layout of the grounds and if procuring that information meant torture, then they would torture. And he had consented. Heroes, Saveaux reasoned, had done far worse in books

_Does not the warrior's blade taste blood; do not the armies of light slay those of darkness for the greater good? And we shall not even go so far as to kill. What is the price of one beast's comfort or health if the reward be the salvation of the innocent?_

But the blood and the barely concealed pain and the knowledge of what they were doing all weighed on Saveaux's mind. He had never read how the hero watching the plight of his enemy – was he his enemy? - could feel infected with his suffering; each cut of the flesh raking his skin, each condemnation rupturing his ear, while the conscience screamed foul. And Biara's face…

The newt collected himself, mentally as well as physically, and stood to cross the hall to lean upon the opposite wall. He did not escape the room to second-guess his actions. There was another reason. With his dwindling reserves of willpower, he strove to dispel the sense of malaise inhibiting his memory.

_The servant spoke of little, yet there was something which resonated throughout my mind. All of the servants were born in the castle…they showed no emotion…though no passages were known by the staff, a number had encountered pressure pads…_

This last thought sent the newt scurrying off in the direction of the library. Arriving there, he stood in the same spot he had the previous evening, in awe of the painting. This time, however, the awe was replaced with determination. The newt examined where frame met wall; the painting was bolted. This only solidified his theory. Saveaux stepped forward, sending the floor tile directly in front of the painting plunging into the floor once more. Before he reached up to remove the painting, he surveyed the small, burnt note he had procured in last night's research, remembering how he had come across the now so valuable scrap of parchment…

--

Pages ruffled rapidly like leaves in a gust. Upon the stone floor, two-dozen volumes laid, felled by the newt in his frenzied search. Another clattered to the floor, making twenty-five.

Saveaux theorized a second search of the library would uncover a map or diagram of some sort of the castle grounds. He did not believe he had searched the entire library yet, just the volumes most likely to contain that information. Quite likely, there was a book he had passed in his first hunt in which the information he sought was hidden.

Another book clattered to the floor: twenty six. His theory was proving unfounded.

The newt pulled another book to the center of his desk before rubbing his weary eyes. He reached down, grasping the leather cover between thumb and forefinger, to find that he could not lift the page; his arm was enveloped in spasms.

How could this be that he was invited here to die, or else watch others pass before him before he too would fall to a murderer's knife? And all for the entertainment of a villain, no less; a deranged, egotistical beast who fancied himself a deity, so that he may decide who might live or die and smite those who did not carry out his will.

_Damn him…blast him to Hellgates!_

The book launched off of the desk, echoing the path the unfortunate bowl in the dining room had taken. It hit the floor with sounds unheard by the newt, entrenched as he was in rage and fear and despair.

Time wore a path to his better judgment, and moments later Saveaux departed from his perch to retrieve the book. There was no sense in vandalizing an innocent volume because he was angered. Saveaux lifted the book, cradling it against his chest like an infant of leather and parchment. He remained rooted to the floor, first out of the overwhelming ache in his breast, then because his sight had caught on something. After placing the abused volume with its discarded brethren, the newt bent down once more to retrieve a small fragment of parchment.

It must have fallen out of the book. Saveaux winced at the thought that he might have desecrated a book to the point of fracture. Yet, the fragment was yellowed and blackened around the edges. The book which he had thrown had been intact.

_Such a fire supped fragment would not originate from an otherwise pristine book._

Assuming that needs for kindling were satiated, one burned a document only to censor the ideas within. Thus, it was more than plausible that the book he had thrown had been used as a hiding place for the fragment he now possessed. That one had gone to great lengths to attempt to destroy it and another had taken such measures to conceal what was left meant that the note invariably held important information. Excited by the thought, Saveaux's eyes eagerly devoured the contents of the scrap, hopeful it contained a means with which to escape.

From the burned page leered two words in faded ink: "Behind artwork"

Saveaux found his way back to his chair unguided by his eyes, fixated as they were upon the words. "Behind painting"; simple enough instruction, yet that was what made it so difficult. Inside the castle, there were uncountable paintings, busts and vases on every floor he had seen. Furthermore, the two words could have any number of meanings; "behind artwork" could mean anything but. It could have been a code or some kind or a cipher to an encryption. The newt sighed, expecting as much. Such a hopeless situation deserved such a vague clue.

By degrees, the note found its way to the edge of the library's writing table. The newt's mind and body were weary, in no shape to solve a riddle. He supposed that he could routinely check each painting one by one. He certainly would have enough time to do so, confined as he was until the other nine died or else he was-

Saveaux dashed the thought from his mind. His previous outburst had eroded much of his reserve. He should conserve himself for what lay ahead.

The newt retrieved another volume from the shelves, all the while thinking the word artwork struck a familiar chord…

--

"Now, where did you run off to in such a hurry?"

Saveaux held up the note and his prize – a small key retrieved from behind the painting.

"L-last night…founnn-d note said…b-b-behind paintiiing. On second floooor…paaaainting bolted to waaall. Press-ure pad…unlocked. Key behind."

Nallmian, who had been listening to the newt's clipped speech, crossed over to the amphibian and snatched the key.

"I know what this goes to. You two stay here; it's easier to sneak around with just one."

The stoat exited, leaving Biara and Saveaux alone. The newt let out a gurgling cough, taking a gulp from his canteen soon after. Saveaux kept his eyes averted from Biara the entire time, attempting to ignore how she dissected him with her eyes as if he were some puzzle for her to solve.

"You still have a sore throat…hmm." Her claw tapped against the side of her cheek and she remained staring.

Saveaux turned away. He could not look the marten in the eye. During the torture, Biara's face…

Biara's face was joy and malice; it was fascination, rage and hysteria. It was rapture. Amidst the desecration, the marten had smiled, her teeth that of a creature primordial. That same face, benign now, though it was, was currently poised near his, attached to the body that had gone about the torture like a child to a game. Saveaux remembered what he had thought had been an innocent exchange between the marten and stoat earlier in the day. Nallmian accused Biara of practicing medicine for a reason other than healing others. She had disagreed, explaining how she valued assisting the invalid. And then she had smiled.

She lied. Saveaux moved himself further away from the marten, though whether or not she noticed he did not know. The newt could not fathom why he had not taken note of the tone of her voice, the significance of the smile shared by the stoat and marten.

_Yet…_

She helped him. She had been a tad abrasive to be sure, but upon their first meeting, Biara's first concern was Saveaux's health. She was the first and only beast who he had encountered in the castle who did not treat Saveaux as something alien or something unreal and not once had she asked for something in return for her services. In addition, she supported his request to spare the servant his life. Saveaux shifted position back towards the marten. There was fallacy in his suspicion. Surely.

Nallmian returned, this time holding a book in addition to the key they had retrieved. He looked as though his trip had been five score longer than it seemed, eyes hooded with tired lids. "Had to search several rooms to find the proper writing desk and when I found it, I thought somebeast had beat us to it. Luckily, whoever had pried open that desk before had only just skimmed the surface; there was a false bottom and a hole just the proper fit for the key. Found this inside."

The journal passed through the air to land in the newt's startled hands.

"See what you can make of it, Professor Amph."

Saveaux looked at the stoat quizzically. "A-amfff?"

Nallmian rolled his eyes. "Amphibian? Alright, give me a break. Stress doesn't necessarily do wonders for my wit."

"I would have figured that little therapy session earlier would have taken a bit off your mind, Nallmian." said Biara.

"You get some satisfaction from watching, sure, but it's nothing like getting your paws dirty and you took care of all the grime work."

Saveaux interrupted, not wanting to revisit a place to which he had locked the door. "Speak…of w-which, why…l-leave in room?"

"Because, he needs to rest after what we put him through. Don't worry; I made him comfortable." explained Biara.

"That and we can't have him along, not when he could slow us down by making a racket or forcing us to drag him around and such," added Nallmian. "Anyway, get to work with that book. I have the utmost confidence in you, Sir Scaly."

Saveaux ignored the stoat's last comment and pulled open the book, diving in at first sight of ink…

--

"Well?" Nallmian asked.

He was finished in a mere five minutes. Saveaux shut the book, rotating it back to the cover. He opened the cover to again observe the first entry.

_We have traveled a far way from the north. The enemy is right behind us, but I have the utmost confidence we shall be able to wait out the siege in our castle. Josephine recommended I start keeping a journal, joking it would help me keep my sanity while we are confined here. Deciding to humor her, I complied, but I have found this writing to be quite therapeutic. The duties of a king are numerous and filled with stress. Perhaps this is just the kind of reprieve I need. I must cease for now; there are more important matters to attend to._

He grasped the remaining pages between thumb and forefinger, flicking to an entry closer to the center.

_There has been no news from the front, nor sign of the enemy, but I am sure they are on their way. Dennis, poor child, has been hurt the most by this, I fear; after some time had passed and I was sure the armies would be on their way, I forbade him from playing in the hall near the gatehouse, least the enemy take us off guard and somehow storm the entryway. The deprivation of exercise weighs heavy on his spirits, and I wish he was able to grow up as a proper badger child, roaming where his will sees fit. Still, he will learn when he is older how his father cared for him and that sacrifices had to be made for his safety…_

Closing his eyes, he flipped to the last entry by the owner.

_The enemy his near; I hear their whispers. Some of the servants say we should leave. I will call them to conference tomorrow in the top floor hall. It shall be settled…_

He closed the book. It was clear both his companions were anxious to know what he had discovered.

Saveaux drained the rest of one of his canteens and started on another before speaking. "Castle...used to be own-ned by b-baaadger king. Hid f-from en-nemy…from N-orth. None c-ame for long…ti-me. Journal…king's."

"Does it say the enemy finally got them? Fallis is clever and he managed to amass an army of servants, but I doubt even he would have been able to oust a royal family of badgers."

Biara's query allowed Saveaux's throat time to recuperate so he could continue on less limited by his impediment.

"King says…en-emy inside castle. J-journal end." he paused to take a breath.

"Well, that sounds useful."

The newt held up a finger to halt Nallmian. "One more en-try…by ser-vant."  
He cast open the book again, pointing to the small scribbled entry on the last page.

_Found this journal while repairing the wall on the top floor. Interesting bit of history on the castle. More interesting; what was behind wall with journal. Should tell Prof. Fallis as soon as possible so he can file in archives. Will write here so I remember & draw map to where I found it._

"Servant…had to repair wa-ll. Top floor. Wrote…found journal…seen someth-th-ing, need tell F-fffaliss."

"So, a worker has to repair a hole in the wall, stumbles upon the journal and something else. Maybe a passageway?" Nallmian asked.

Saveaux nodded, thankful he did not have to speak to answer; his vocal cords felt as though they were blistering. Anticipating the next question, he showed his companions the map the servant had drawn on the final page.

"I didn't notice anything in that spot when I first got here, so I assume what the servant found has since been sealed away. Come on, I know how we can crack this nut…"

--

Stone fragments fell away as crumbs while the teeth of the stolen mace bit into the rock one hit after another. After Nallmian took his swing, Biara followed with the war hammer she had purloined from the armory. Every few swings, Saveaux chimed in with his dwarfish hammer; it had been the heaviest thing he could wield.

"You're sure…about the place…being behind…this wall?" the stoat grunted in between swings.

"Map…say…here…" Saveaux gasped. Barely able to speak as he was, attempting to do so whilst swinging a cumbersome weapon against a sturdy wall was nearly impossible.

Thinking there was an easier way, the newt scanned the stones. The masonry had been repaired, possibly recently, so that meant new plaster where the wall had worn away before. Saveaux lifted his hammer high over his head as he sighted a bright spot amidst the darker grays of the walls.

Brick chipped away easily with a few swings and there was a hole about the size of the newt's fist.

"Well done. That's two points for you, Savvy," The stoat turned to the marten, "Better catch up."

The wall gave way completely a few minutes later to form a hole about the size of a door. Saveaux and Nallmian quickly stepped in, wary that a servant could be by any moment, alerted by the racket. Biara brought up the rear, grasping a torch she had taken from its place in the hall. Light filtered into the cave by degrees.

Saveaux let out an alarmed gurgle. Nallmian jumped slightly. The newt couldn't see Biara, but he was sure she had let out a small gasp. Light from the torch filled the room, casting shadows over every corpse, causing black to dance here on a sunken cheek or there on an empty ribcage. Plastered on what remained of each face were looks of utmost horror. Saveaux clamped part of his cloak over his mouth, seeing Nallmian do the same to prevent the corrosive scent of a tomb from creeping into his nostrils.

"Found the King's servants." Biara announced. The newt turned to see her examining one of the skeletons.

"What else would it be? This one's a mouse. All of the others look distinctly woodlander as well."

Saveaux suddenly smote his forehead; he had overlooked entirely at what the last entry implied.

"King paranoid…sealed away s-servants who w-ant leave."

"We should still search for some kind of opening or passage or…something." Nallmian began to rapidly shift rubble and decayed corpses about. Biara crossed to help him while Saveaux searched from the side closest the hole.

He found nothing. Saveaux checked again, this time searching in the opposite direction: nothing still. He then began to overturn rocks until he caught sight of something white. The newt beheld another note, written in the same scribbled short hand as the first note and the last entry in the journal, "Basement"

Baffled, he turned to inform the others when he realized that it would be best to allow them to proceed on their own, lest there actually was an exit route hidden in the sealed room, or else something that could aid in their escape. Rather, he would go ask the servant they had interrogated to see if the note rang any proverbial bells. Without a sound, Saveaux left for the interrogation room.

--

The head lolled off a weak neck, a pool of blood spread out under the left arm, the collar. Saveaux morbidly noted how the mattress soaked up blood like a grisly sponge. The newt could do naught but stare until he slowly fell over, landing tail first upon the floor. He was surprised his heart had not stopped after all that had transpired previously, even going so far as to feel his breast with his free hand: still beating. The servant's however, was not.

"This is just swell." Saveaux didn't have to turn to know it was Nallmian. "We should have gotten a leash for the little twerp."

"Don't," chided Biara, afterwords whispering something the newt did not completely overhear.

"Y-ou…kill?"

"Saveaux," the marten knelt down, gently touching the newt's shoulder. Saveaux thrashed away from her paw. "If we kept him alive, what would he have done? We couldn't set him free, because he could have told Fallis what we did, or worse, tell the others. Would you want Flynn to have another reason to kill us?"

"You…pro-mised."

"What we promised was that he would be alive when we left the room. And he was; Biara made sure of that," Nallmian explained. The stoat was suddenly directly in front of Saveaux, staring point blank into the newt's eyes. "And you can be sure that if you speak a word to anybeast about this, she'll make sure you won't be speaking for very long after."


	33. The Head That Wears The Crown

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 31. The Head That Wears The Crown****  
**

_by Rhea  
_

The depths of the basement could not have been farther removed from the high chambers of the fire mountain, at least when it came to the chill. Rhea was frigid, but it would be hypocritical to ask for a break when it had been her idea to search down there in the first place.

Hers and the coin's, of course, but the coin wasn't cold. Randomness did not know how to feel, and the only shivers as Kima's nimble paw sent it soaring through the air had been Rhea's own. Even drawing straws had felt more relaxing than watching the coin fall. At least that was under her control. Uncertainty could spawn fear, but it also permitted hope. And, in truth, she wouldn't have it any other way.

The coin had fallen and they had descended. But despite the signs of hope, if ghostly voices echoing among the grave stones could be called hopeful, there was still no way out. Her original energy, leading the quest, gradually gave way to lackadaisical lingering behind the others.

And Raine noticed. "Are you okay?"

"M'fine," Rhea muttered.

Kima paused, facing them both. "You look freezing."

"Well, it's cold," Rhea sniped back.

"Go upstairs and get a cloak," the cat suggested kindly.

"Let's keep working a little longer."

"No." Kima was already, and imperially, heading for the stairs. "You're too tired. Tired eyes could miss something."

The words hit home, and Rhea reluctantly shuffled towards the stairs. She was glad for any excuse to pause, even something as simple as Raine's quiet "Oh."

When the mouse didn't elaborate, Rhea irritably demanded, "What?"

"Are you scared of going up there alone? Is that it?"

"I'm fine!" she repeated, with even less ability to convince anyone. Once the skeptical faces of her companions told her as much, she went on, "It's just...it's not that...We're in trouble. A lot more trouble than needing cloaks. And I don't want to be the sort of beast that needs to stop working just because it's a little chilly." Her words sounded useless even as they came out of her mouth, but there had to be some way to get them to understand.

"You're fine." Kima was too firm to be truly natural. "But we'll still come with you. I could use an extra layer myself."

"If..." It wouldn't pay to antagonize the fellow guests, especially not the ones she would be working with. "If you don't mind..."

"Of course not!" Raine smiled. "Come on."

Together they ascended, and Rhea's strength grew with the altitude. Simply being somewhere other than the basement was a refreshing change. She was ahead of the others by the second floor, and flinched at a "Wait!" from behind her.

But it was only Raine. "That's the wrong way, unless your cloak's in the library."

"Oh. Right." Embarrassed, Rhea caught up with the mouse. But even the wrong turn brought some sort of relief. This was unfamiliar territory, not home. She couldn't allow herself to get too comfortable. The captain might have gotten what was coming to him, but any more death would come perilously close to legitimizing the Professor's madness. They had to get out before they fell into the trap of despair.

They arrived at the third floor. "I'm fine on my own here," Rhea said confidently.

"That's good," Raine nervously answered. "Kima's not here."

"Should we go look for her?"

"I'll do it, you get your cloak."

If she could handle things on her own, Raine probably could too. "Okay, I'll see you soon." Focused on the task ahead and oblivious to the rest of the world, Rhea entered her room and rummaged again through the closet. The nightgown had been replaced by a red robe, above which she added a brown layer. Long, but it would do.

As she approached the others, she noticed what seemed to be a crack on the wall, out of the corner of her eye. She quietly approached, then broke into a sprint. The wall had been blown open! It had to be a way out! She dashed forward, towards the fissure...and instantaneously halted. Rhea couldn't tell whether the sudden queasiness in her stomach came from being dizzy or from what she saw inside.

At first glance, it could have been a carpeted battlefield. Bodies slumped limply against the walls, while others occupied intermittent patches of the floor. There was enough room for Rhea to enter, tripping over a former piece of wall, and still have space to walk on. But not by much.

_We're not the first ones._

The thought froze her as unforgivingly as a blizzard would have. It was there, having fallen from gleeful expectation to overwhelming dread, that Kima found her several minutes later. "Rhea? What-what is this place?"

"He's done this before," she whispered. "These are the ones that didn't make it."

"Who? What are you talking about?" Kima remained outside the onetime wall, peering in at the macabre tableau.

"The Professor." If she hadn't been so abruptly disillusioned, Rhea would have projected more anger. As it was, her voice wasn't much louder than a whisper. "He's done this, this thing, before. And kept the bodies here."

"Raine, come and look at this," Kima called, stepping in. She glanced down at the nearest corpses to the door, a scrawny otter and an undersized squirrel. "They aren't injured or anything."

Holding her breath, Rhea glanced around at several others. A hare...a shrew..."These are all woodlanders. Maybe the vermin killed each other off, and they're somewhere else."

"The vermin?" Kima critically repeated.

"You know what I mean."

"Not really."

Raine arrived at the room. "What's..." She trailed off, disgusted at the display.

"Rhea thinks they're past...participants in this "experiment," but I don't know." Kima stepped back into the hallway.

"Have they been dead for a long time?" Raine immediately wondered.

"I don't think so." Rhea couldn't hear Kima muttering something to Raine at the same time the badger spoke.

The mousemaid focused her reminiscing. "Didn't Falliss say he was too old to do it more than once?"

"Maybe this is the last time. I hope so, anyhow." Rhea pulled herself up and wandered forward. It was easier if she kept her eyes focused on the corridors beyond, yet she feared she'd trip over something.

"Hurry up, I want to look at them."

"Why?"

"Just a feeling."

Rhea was only too glad to clamber over the debris that served as a door, however. As soon as she did, Raine scurried in. "Look at their clothing," she said, after only a moment's glance.

Kima quickly peered in. "Seems pretty simple, nothing fancy like ours."

"It all matches. It must be some sort of uniform."

Even the light from the hallway was enough for the cat to see something glitter in the room that she'd missed before. Squinting, she leapt inside, clearing the squirrel's body on one hop. "This doesn't look very uniform to me."

"What is it?" Raine crept up behind Kima, analyzing a mole's shriveled remains. "He's holding some sort of cloth."

"I don't care about a silly rag, look at this!" Rhea's curiosity overcame her revulsion, and she joined the others. Kima had spotted a gleaming piece of metal, and pulled it free. "Do you have any idea how much this is worth?"

"I'm sure people will be dying to buy it in a place like this," Rhea acerbically replied, earning another sharp glance. "What good is any more gold going to do?"

Raine broke the oncoming tension. "I bet that mole looked silly in a tiara like that. Maybe he was just cleaning it."

"Well, then, I can hardly do worse, can I?" Kima gave a self-deprecating grin as she lightly set the tiara down atop her head.

It would have looked fine to Rhea if she had cared. As it stood, she was most concerned about getting out of the rancid room. Raine, however, had other plans. "No, it doesn't fit you."

"What are you talking about? It fits fine."

"No. I think Rhea should try."

"Could we at least do this in the hall?" Rhea didn't wait for the others to answer, trekking out of the room and into the hallway. The others followed.

Neither of Raine's companions was particularly enthused as she stood on tip-paw to transfer the slim crown. Nevertheless, the moment it touched her head Rhea felt a spontaneous conviction that it did fit her, better than it ever would Kima. Before that thought had even fully registered, however, she noticed specks of dust in the otherwise-pristine hallways, as if generations' worth of accumulation had followed her through the wall.

Raine nodded soberly. "It fits you."

"You look like a real lady," Kima giggled.

A lady? The tiara fit so well, and with it, the roles and duties of, at best, some princess of the past. At worst, it was the diadem of the dead, somebeast who cared more about her beauty than her survival.

Rhea reached up and gripped it. The metal almost seemed to bend under her paws; it had been designed for a frailer beast. Carefully, she set it down amid the rubble at the edge of the room.

Kima was aghast, Raine merely surprised. "We're all equals until we get out," Rhea said more easily than she had anticipated. The servants' treatment of her had helped, for all that was worth—she still was not expected to do any true work—but for the most part, she believed in her rhetoric. "I don't need any piece of metal to tell me I'm better or worse than anyone else."

"That's not what it means." Kima seemed frustrated and tired, as if she was trying to explain a simple concept to a young cub while simultaneously battering down a wall.

Of course! "That's not what's important right now. Somebody did this." Rhea nodded towards the debris. "Couldn't they do it on an outside wall, too?"

"Maybe." Kima seemed to examine the makeshift doorway shrewdly.

"We have to find a servant first, though," Raine reiterated.

Rhea had been reinvigorated to search for an escape, yet the day had already seen too many ups and downs. The basement had proved unfruitful, after all. Most importantly, she'd promised. "I suppose so."

Each with reluctance and readiness in varied proportions, the companions descended once more into the castle.


	34. Nothing Right, Nothing Wrong

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 32. Nothing Right, Nothing Wrong****  
**

_by Raine  
_

"So we've accomplished nothing."

"Not nothing, Raine- You just need to be patient! You didn't expect to find a way out on the first try, did you?" Kima had a hint of pleading in her voice, as if she was trying to convince herself. It would be a lie to say the day's events hadn't rubbed off on her. "Anyway, remember the tomb and the drains? Important pieces of information we never would've gotten if we just sat on our bums."

"Do those 'important pieces of information' include you finding that suspiciously dead and tortured squirrel?" Raine said, with an indignant huff. No one at the dining table -except her teammates- seemed to pay her the least attention, being too occupied with eating their dinners and discussing the day's work.

Kima shifted uneasily, fork halfway to her mouth. "You know I wouldn't do that. He was there when I entered the place."

"Really? Kind of convenient, don't you think?"

"Now, now," said Biara, laughing nervously. "There's no room for that sort of talk. I'm sure she didn't mean it."

The sentence hung there like laundry out to dry, billowing in the winds of uncertainty.

"Er," the mouse began. "Who do you mean by 'she'-"

"Um, you really do look parched." Biara grasped desperately in her medicine bag. _Where are those stupid herbs?_ She grabbed some green, sharp-edged leaves at random and dropped them in a cup already filled with water. That should be enough. _It's how much I usually take, anyway._ She shoved it toward the incredulous mousemaid, forcing a grin on her face.

Raine, in a state of confusion, took the drink slowly. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but one thing was for certain... she was glad the argument was over. _I guess I'm just not ready for the truth._ She frowned at the cup; the liquid tasted funny. Well, it didn't matter. Too late to do anything now.

"C'mon, Rhea, Kima, let's go," she said, feeling back in good spirits again- _or was it before?_ She couldn't remember. "I think we might still have time to search a few places, things always happen at night, dontcha know…" Raine's giggle was followed by a somewhat intoxicated hiccup, if such a thing was possible.

"Uh, you guys go on ahead. I want to talk to Quincy here," Rhea said distractedly. She turned back to the hare. "So what were you saying again? Something about the defenses at Salamandastron?"

The pair, cat and mouse, walked through the torch lit passages alone. Kima shivered, but with cold or general misgivings she did not know. "D'you really think we should be out here? You saw what happened to Sootpaws… And those servants are pretty creepy…"

"Oh, are you going all scaredy-cat on me now?" Suddenly feeling happy beyond any means of normal measurement, Raine skipped up and down the hall, a warm, fuzzy, safe feeling enveloping her consciousness. _Everything's going to be all right, I know it!_ And anything she wanted could happen to her, if she could only grasp it... and stay like this for just a little while longer. The experience wasn't dissimilar to when she first met Martin. "Who's a scaredy-cat, huh? Do you want to chase me? I'm faster! _Race you to the stairs_!"

Kima could only stare in unparalleled confusion. Just a few minutes ago.. she heaved a sigh. _We really are a bunch of wet blankets, aren't we, she thought, and yet we always look for opportunities- To simply enjoy life, no matter which road we're on. Maybe that's because we are alive. Well, might as well enjoy _this._ It's about time I've had some fun. _

She didn't notice when her claws slid out, nor when a snarl ripped out of her throat. _The mouse is simply a distraction- a rather tasty-looking distraction, but..._

There was no explanation for what happened next. Clearly the wildcat was only doing in jest, chasing the mouse in a parody of nature's famous game. And then...The fog lifted, bring all the comforts of Raine's own reality with it, becoming too real…And Kima was eyeing her like a piece of meat… and she wasn't running quite fast enough…

Single colors blurred into sights and sounds as Raine sped on and on. A weirdly skewed mirror with her face in it, at the very edge of her vision… It broke into a thousand pieces as she threw it on the floor. Pained sounds appeared a few seconds later, pinkish white and tinged with confusion as her pursuer slowed.

"H y wh id y do t at for"

Her world was too full of terror, too instinctive to make her freeze and too overwhelming to slow down. After all, she was being chased… she must run…

_Traitor! Traitor!_ The Story crowed at the back of her mind. It was drowned out by the voices of millions of her ancestors, the ones who came before proper civilization, who were too primitive to have a word for "primitive". They were the ones who survived.

_And I will, too. _

The door banged open. Rows and rows of books arched like silent sentinels. Her legs sprung forward of their own volition, or was it her own...

NO! If the Story had taken over her body, she couldn't let it take over her mind- no, her soul…

Kima had caught up, panting as she rounded the corner, bleeding from her footpaw. Clarity had returned to the wildcat, replaced by simmering puzzlement.

"I wasn't chasing you, you didn't have to run like that," she said reproachfully, but stopped as she saw the cowering mousemaid trying to make sense of a world that was turned upside down.

She stepped forward.

Raine stepped backward, eyes contracted with fright.

The bookshelf she'd backed into toppled, the candle sitting on the ledge spinning off and spiraling down in slow motion fashion. And then her sight was eclipsed by a huge shadow, coming down very very fast…

She shut her eyes peacefully.

'It hurts inside,' _she told Martin._

'That's because you're doing it right,' _he replied._ 'You always feel a little bad the first few times you do it. Someday it'll go away. With experience. Just keep doing what I tell you, and you'll be fine.'

'I must go on standing, must I? For everyone else?'

_There was the slightest of pauses._ 'Yes.'

She had known it at the time the conversation had happened. She had pretended she didn't. She had known that those somedays weren't hers at all.

But for now, she'll forget… everything…

To be free.

end of round two.


	35. Hopes And Dreams Are Shattering Apart

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of round three.

**Chapter 33. Hopes And Dreams Are Shattering Apart****  
**

_by Kima  
_

_You've killed her…You've killed her!_ The thought ran over and over through Kima's head. "No, maybe she's still alive…" Her words were absorbed by the books all around her, sounding small and incredibly feeble. As if the library was supposed to be silent.

In a daze, the wildcat shuffled over to the toppled bookshelf beneath which Raine now lay. The candle had extinguished itself, its still-warm wax now conforming very nicely to the contours of the stone floor. Books lay scattered all about, their once-immaculate leather covers dented and torn. She made no effort to avoid stepping on them, her bleeding footpaw leaving little red stains wherever it set down.

Kima knelt beside the bookshelf – an insect before a toppled giant. She set her paws on the cool, smooth wood. It was reassuringly solid. Bone-crushingly solid.

Was it possible Raine was still alive beneath all this? The odds were not in her favor. Her slight frame didn't stand a chance beneath this weight…

Her jaw clenched. No! She couldn't think that! That was exactly the kind of reasoning that brought about bad luck. Anything was possible. Kima quickly rapped her knuckles against the wood and slipped her fingertips beneath the bottom lip. The idea of leaving Raine trapped beneath this monstrosity was absolutely abhorring. "I'll get you out of there."

Teeth gritted, the feline pulled. The shelves creaked, and books fell to the floor. The heavy construct tilted upwards several inches. _Just a little more…_ Kima's muscles strained valiantly. They began to burn, protesting this harsh treatment.

The bookshelf rose another inch. With a long growl that became a snarl, Kima tried to heave it up further. Her fingers slipped, and gravity eagerly sucked it back down. It hardly made a sound.

Crying out in frustration, Kima slammed her fists against the back of the shelf. It was simply too massive for her to move on her own. Lying down on her stomach, she peered under the shelf, but books obscured her vision.

"I'll get you out of there." The statement was spoken in a harsh whisper, like a blade slithering from its scabbard. It carried but an echo of the resolution and determination it held previously.

Arms reached under, and Kima began extracting books. Books of poetry, great works of literature – all were shoved unceremoniously aside. She kept working, waiting for that last book that would unveil her friend.

Finally, Raine's face appeared. If her eyes had been open, she would have been staring straight at Kima.

Kima's breath caught in her throat. Now that she was actually looking at the mousemaid, reality finally settled in. Dead. Gone forever. And yet, oddly, Raine looked as though she was at peace. Nowhere on her face could be found even a hint of the terror and agony that had been etched into the squirrel's. But she was still dead.

The musty scent of books all around her, Kima began to cry. Her tears blurred her vision and soaked her fur. Reaching forward a paw, the wildcat stroked the mouse's still whiskers.

It wasn't at all satisfying.

_"I can't believe you don't want to keep that crown." Kima was in something of a huff as the group descended from the third floor. "It would fetch a hefty price."_

_Rhea didn't glance at Kima. "I just put it back into the room. You could have grabbed it."_

_"We have to get out of here first, anyways. Alive." Raine did glance at Kima, and her look was full of meanings, not all of them good._

_Kima laughed nervously. It came out stuttered and not entirely-sane sounding. Now both of her companions were staring at her. She closed her mouth abruptly, then opened it again. "Of course we're going to get out of here alive."_

_"Is something wrong, Kima?" The way Rhea asked the question, it was clear she knew something was bothering the feline. She was more asking for an explanation._

_Kima stared straight ahead, eyes on the stairs. "No, nothing's wrong…"_

_"Yes, something's wrong." Raine said._

_Kima's ears flattened. She wasn't going to mention _that_, was she?_

_"You know when I went to find Kima? Well, I found her in a room with a dead servant."_

_All three stopped on the staircase. Kima winced. Yes, she mentioned it._

_Rhea blinked in surprise. "Wait, what? You killed a servant, Kima?"_

_Feeling suddenly very awkward, Kima shook her head in a most vehement fashion. "No! No, I didn't kill that squirrel." She raised her paws as if by doing so, she might ward off the accusation. Instead, she found both her companions staring at them. Glancing at them, herself, Kima realized there was still blood on them. Hastily lowering them, the feline looked pleadingly at the other two. "I didn't kill him."_

_Raine rolled her eyes in disgust. "Oh no, you were just grabbing his bloody throat because it felt nice."_

_Kima had no reply. How was she supposed to respond to that? It wasn't far off the mark, by any means._

_"What floor is he on?" Rhea asked._

_"First floor." Kima pounced on the question, glad to have one she could answer. "In one of the guest rooms. Why do you ask?"_

_"Well…" The badger shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She looked distinctly uncomfortable with what she was about to say. "Maybe we should go have a look at the body."_

_Raine transferred her gaze from Kima to Rhea. "What good will that do? If we're going to interrogate a servant, he kind of needs to still be alive."_

_Rhea shrugged. "Maybe we might find some clues as to who actually did it. Might be a useful thing to know."_

_Kima thought of the squirrel's pained expression. His staring eyes. His matted fur. His matted, bloodied…_

_She shuddered and shook her head. "No, I can't go back into that room."_

_"And we agreed we were going to search for a servant now."_

_"Fine, how about one of us…well, I suppose me. How about I just take a quick peek in? It won't take that long to look around, I imagine. We can find a servant after, and they'll probably be easier to find on the first floor, anyways." As if that settled matters, the badger began lumbering down the stairs without waiting for agreement, leaving the other two behind her._

_Sighing in near unison, Kima and Raine followed after. Rhea may have said she considered them all to be equal, but it was clear she was used to making the decisions._

_It didn't take the group long to reach the first floor, and once there, even less time to come to the door from behind which the scent of blood still wafted._

_Kima nervously stepped against the wall. "I'll wait out here. Keep watch."_

_Rhea nodded, took a deep breath, wrinkled her nose at the scent, nearly decided to call the whole thing off, and finally just pushed open the door. She and Raine stepped inside._

_Immediately, the smell intensified. And it smelled _delicious_. Kima inhaled and closed her eyes, savoring it. Maybe she would take another peek inside the room…_

_"He's gone!"_

_Kima's eyes snapped open. Gone? Peering around the doorframe, she stared for a moment, and then came all the way into the room._

_Everything was the same as before: bloodied bed, bloodied sheets, bloodied floor. Except – no bloodied squirrel. It was as if he had simply vanished into thin air. Like a ghost._

_"The servants probably cleaned him up."_

_Raine's statement made sense, but it didn't completely reassure Kima. "Or maybe the castle is haunted."_

_The sounding of the dinner bell closed off any further discussion._

_"I suppose we should probably go eat," Rhea said. "It might be good to compare notes with the other groups." There was murmured assent, and the three exited the room._

_Kima looked at her still-bloodied paws. She couldn't go to dinner with them looking like that. "I think I'll wash up first. I'll meet you guys there."_

_"Will you be alright by yourself?" Raine asked. Her tone suggested what she was really asking was whether or not other beasts would be alright with Kima by herself._

_"I'll be fine." And so saying, Kima headed back upstairs. She passed no one on the staircases or hallways, and arrived at her bedroom without incident._

_As she began to wash, a wave of nausea surged over her. Gasping aloud, she leaned against the wash basin for support. _That's right. I'm sick. Funny how you can forget something like that. I'll have to drink some more tea at dinner.

_She remained that way for several minutes, breathing as deeply and steadily as she could manage. The queasiness finally passed, and Kima kept scrubbing. The blood wouldn't come out. She scrubbed harder. The blood wasn't bothered at all. Frustration began to build, and she scrubbed as though she was trying to take her fur off. If anything, the blood seeped in deeper. "Blast this blood and blast…Wachoo!"_

_Kima paused. Her sneeze came suddenly – unexpectedly even, but that wasn't why she stopped. She could have _swore_ someone else had sneezed at exactly the same time. She glanced fearfully to the side. It had sounded as though someone right next to her had sneezed, but all that greeted her was a stone wall._

_Frowning, the wildcat kept her gaze on the wall, decided her paws weren't getting any cleaner, and dried them. Grabbing her cloak to ward off the castle chill, she slowly backed out of her room, eyes glued to the spot next to her sink._

_The nine guests were again gathered around the dining table, engaged in amiable conversation and eating food that was as splendid as ever. There was almost a feeling of camaraderie amongst the group._

Well, maybe camaraderie is too strong a word._ Kima looked around the table. As compared to the first night, though, everyone was downright jovial. Gone was the rift between vermin and woodlanders. They sat next to each other, at least. _And we're perhaps getting somewhere now.

_Once dinner had gotten underway, conversation had naturally fallen into discussing the day's discoveries._

_Rhea watched a servant glide from the room, empty platters in paw. "So the servants aren't as emotionless as they pretend?"_

_"I should say not!" Flynn said._

_"At least, that head servant, Jeremy, isn't," Quincy amended. "And I imagine that if he's not as emotionless as he seems to be, neither are the others."_

_"So it really is just an act." This news came as something of a relief to Kima. The idea that somebeast could have absolutely no emotion just wasn't natural. Not natural at all._

_"Well, all actors slip up sometimes." Nallmian didn't seem in the least surprised by this revelation. In fact, neither did the other two members of his group._

_Saveaux coughed and looked as though he was about to say something, but Biara leaned over and whispered something in his ear. After a moment, the newt nodded._

_The marten smiled and turned to the rest of the guests. "I think we should record our findings. Saveaux is an excellent writer, and he says he wouldn't mind recording everything"_

_As if to emphasize the point, Saveaux cleared the table in front of him and began setting out quill and parchment._

_Desmond, who had remained largely aloof throughout dinner, finally spoke. "Well, at least _some_ of us have some good ideas." He cast a meaningful look at the other two members of his group._

_Flynn glared at him. Even Quincy looked a little displeased with the squirrel._

_"Has anyone discovered a way out?" Raine asked, sounding rather dejected. "Because we didn't."_

_"Nor us," Quincy said._

_"I think we've made it clear we didn't find an exit," Nallmian said._

_"So we've accomplished nothing." The mousemaid sounded even more depressed._

_Kima shook her head. "Not nothing, Raine…"_

On her way back to the dining hall, her reflection in a passing mirror gave Kima pause. She looked a mess. Red-rimmed eyes and mussed fur was hardly something to present to the other guests. The wildcat smoothed her cheeks and rubbed at her eyes. It didn't help much, but it was better than nothing.

Tail twitching as she composed herself, she spotted something on the floor. A droplet of blood – her blood. With a jolt, she realized this was the spot Raine had smashed the mirror. It had been completely destroyed, and yet there was no trace of it anywhere. It had already been swept up. Not only swept up, but also replaced. What service. Those servants and their cold efficiency. It hadn't been very long at all since Kima came dashing through here. Somehow, they seemed to know exactly when and where they needed to be.

Well, they wouldn't be able to easily get Raine's body. Not like how they had taken the fox and the squirrel. And where were those two now? Probably rotting in some garbage pit or back room. Maybe another sealed one.

Anger boiled up inside Kima, and she was tempted to smash the mirror as Raine had done – just to spite the castle's janitors. A small token of defiance.

But no, she wasn't quite that desperate yet. Only a fool would do something as incredibly unlucky as smashing a mirror.

Maybe that was what had gotten Raine.

Kima sniffled, told herself it was because of her cold, and continued on. Surprisingly, when she made it back to the dining hall, everyone else was still there. Saveaux was no longer recording, and the conversation was now on other things.

Rhea was the first to notice Kima's return. "Hey, Kima. Where's Raine?"

Kima said nothing. Shuffling to her chair, she sat down. The conversation slowly died away as the others noticed her slightly-haggard appearance.

"Where's Raine?" Rhea asked again.

Kima looked at the badger. A thousand thoughts tumbled through her head – a thousand different things to say – but all that came out was, "Dead."

None of those at the table said anything as they came to terms with this new piece of information. Although none had expressed it, most of them had likely held onto a hope that no one else would die before they escaped. Raine's death brought this fantasy crashing to the ground.

Finally, it was Flynn who spoke, suspicion oozing from her words. "How did she die?"

"It was an accident!" Kima said quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly. She looked at the staring faces, more than one a little suspicious. For a moment, she considered telling the truth – just telling the tale in all its absurdity. But that hardly seemed the wise thing to do. It would only make her look guilty. "We decided to explore the library. Well, Raine did. I…I just followed. We started to search around. I moved off to explore down one of the aisles. We weren't there a minute before I heard a crash. One of the bookshelves fell over and…Raine was underneath it."

"So you didn't see who did it?"

Kima shook her head. "No. As far as I know, Raine and I were the only ones in the library."

"Well. Two down, seven to go," Desmond said. "Pass the salt."


	36. The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 34. The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret****  
**

_by Biara  
_

"So, how are you feeling?"

The only response was a slightly irritated huff from the wildcat. Biara twitched one ear. "Oh, sorry."

Kima closed her mouth, her striped tail curling lightly over the side of the bed. "Don't worry about it," she said with a small grin. "How does it look?"

"Your throat still looks a little red…" The healer tapped her chin with a claw. "But it doesn't seem to have gotten any worse, at least."

The wildcat nodded. "That's a relief! Honestly, though, I'm already feeling a bit better than I was before." The validity of the statement was ruined, however, by an unfortunate sneeze. Kima grinned sheepishly at the stern-faced medic. "Er, excuse me! Seems I had that one coming."

"Hmmm…" Biara regarded her patient critically, eyes narrowed. She probed at the sniffling cat's neck, who cocked her head curiously at the gesture. It was something that the marten had seen her tutor do many times, but she had never gotten around to asking him what exactly he was looking for. She couldn't feel anything that seemed problematic, at least. Nothing, except for the soft little pattering of her pulse. Quite steady. Healthy and vibrant and so wonderfully _breakable._

The marteness stopped quite suddenly, clearing her throat officially. _Bloody distractions…_ "Well, it doesn't feel like there's anything there," she said, stepping back and crossing her arms. "Is there anything that's bothering you specifically?"

Kima took a moment to ponder this, and sneeze into her pawkerchief, before answering. "Well, not really. Mostly it's just my nose and throat, and honestly it's more irritating than painful."

"Well," Biara said mildly as she fished through her bag, "perhaps you should consider that next time before dashing off to explore the moldy basement of an old castle, hmm?"

Kima sniffled. "You can say that again. There wasn't really anything interesting down there, anyway. Awfully chilly, too."

The healer was getting frustrated; what in the world had happened to all of her—

"Oh!" Biara clicked her fangs together. "I'd quite forgotten. I gave most of my comfrey away to that silly little mousemaid." Kima glanced down fixedly at her claws at the mention of Raine, but Biara didn't seem to notice. The marten sniffed, "A pity it never occurred to her to take it in moderation." It didn't seem as if any of these beasts were gifted with any sort of common sense at all, and that wasn't even mentioning that irritating squirrel who had taken to strutting about in his pajamas. She sighed. "I suppose I could fetch some more, but…"

Kima smiled, hoping to alleviate the situation. "You know, I could really go for some more tea."

"Precisely what I had in mind," Biara said, nodding sagely. She handed several of the packets over to the wildcat. "That should do just fine, as long as you make sure to dress warmly and get some rest."

"Thanks a bunch, doc, I really owe you one." The wildcat couldn't help but notice how well the candlelight reflected off the mirror-edge of the scalpel poking out of the healer's cloak pocket. "Is there anything else I should do?"

Biara put a paw to her chin, appraising her patient once more. "I suppose there is." She retrieved a dried out leaf from her bag. "This is mint," she lectured as she handed the herb over. "It should soothe your throat somewhat."

Kima sniffed at the herb once and went to set in on her bedside table. Biara stared curiously at her, and the wildcat shifted under her scrutinous gaze. "What is it?"

"You're limping."

"Oh." Kima sat down again. "It's nothing, really. I stepped on a bit of broken glass earlier today…" the cheerfulness dropped from the wildcat's expression, and she stared down at the floor as if the scattered shards were lying there.

The pine marten, however, simply knelt down and inspected the cut. "You're right; not bad at all, really. But it could be if we don't take care of it." She stood up again, dusting her paws off. "You do get into some scrapes, don't you?" Biara chirruped amiably as she searched for a bandage. "Getting colds, stepping on glass, running about in the basement... I just don't know what I'm going to do with you!" Her chuckle died a bit when she noticed the despondent droop of Kima's ears. She wasn't quite sure exactly what to say to comfort her patient, so she just set to work on the injured footpaw.

Biara hadn't particularly cared for the mousemaid one way or the other. It was one thing for her to go off and get herself killed, but to waste perfectly good herbs in the process… The marten twitched her whiskers in irritation. Why had she given her those herbs in the first place? She honestly couldn't be bothered to remember exactly what had happened. The night before, the marten had spent some much needed quality time with the casks of damson wine in the cellars, and the only things she clearly remembered about the following morning were a pounding headache and the mousemaid blabbing on about a dead servant. And Kima. Biara grinned.

A competent healer's first duty was to care for her patient, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to have a suspected murderer in her debt.

"That should do it!" The marten proclaimed as she finished the dressing. "I'll check up on it again tomorrow, but it should be just fine."

Kima smiled, her expression somewhat less troubled. "Thanks again, Biara."

The healer stood tall, adjusting the collar of her cloak. "No thanks necessary," she said, "just doing my job. In fact," she snatched her bag up and started for the door, "I should stop by Mistress Badger's room to check up on her. I would have had to see that little mousemaid as well, but it looks like that won't be entirely necessary at this point." The healer smiled cheerfully. "A good thing, that, or else I'd be out of tea before tomorrow!" Biara coughed, realizing that Kima might not quite appreciate her joke.

"Well, I suppose I should be going. If you need something, please don't hesitate to ask," she said, with a polite nod.

"Goodnight." The wildcat waved goodbye and then Biara closed the door behind her and started off briskly down the hallway. There were beasts that needed her expertise, and she wasn't going to keep them waiting!

--

Biara stormed into her room and slammed the door behind her. Crossing over to her bed, the pine marten plopped down, ears laid flat against her skull and tail lashing.

She really didn't like woodlanders. And she was growing distinctly less fond of newts as well.

Her little visit with Rhea had been thankfully uneventful, but that amphibian was the very limit! The marten's lips curled back over her teeth in a silent snarl. Not only had he refused to speak to her, but also he had refused her tea. She simply could not understand. It would have all too easy to lie, to say that Flynn or that stripedog or any of those other brutish woodlanders had snuck into the room and did away with the servant. She hadn't. And he still insisted on being difficult.

Why had she told him the truth?

The healer traced the scar on her snout, slouching moodily against the wall. Could it have been guilt? Biara sneezed ferociously at the very idea. She had never been bothered by such tiresome emotions before.

Biara had to admit that she was no torturer, although she sometimes said the contrary right before an operation. She twitched an ear; nobeast seemed to appreciate that joke. Regardless, she would have normally left such an interrogation to a beast like Nallmian, who actually specialized in such things, but this experiment had been different. The marten flexed her claws deep into one of the pillows. Not that it had mattered. They had found out little to nothing about the actual castle and the servants had turned out to be completely uninteresting. She sighed. It was really a shame. Biara had been wondering about those dead-eyed beasts, too.

_Huh, don't pretend like you had your hopes up. Monsters don't have hopes._ But still, it was just so very disappointing. Like Saveaux. She narrowed her eyes, reminded of the newt's treachery.

_To 'gates with him If his throat gets infected, that's his own bloody fault, the ungrateful little brute._

Biara stopped, looking down at the ravaged pillow. She sighed.

_Hellgates. I need a drink._

--

Biara had done her best to get some sleep, but something had been distracting her, tickling the back of her mind. And the Damson wine was still calling.

The marten had started on her way to the cellar, when she realized that she had never really made an effort to explore the rest of the third floor other than visiting Kima and Rhea's rooms. Filled with new curiosity, Biara made her way up the stairwell, quite confident that nobeast would be up and about at this hour.

Stalking silently past Rhea's and Kima's rooms, Biara paused in middle of the intersection between the hallways. To the left was more guest rooms, and to the right was the previously sealed chamber, as well as two rooms that the marten could only guess at. She was just turning right when she remembered something. Nallmian. His room was on the third floor. When he had returned with the journal, he had looked distinctly upset.

The first room to the left smelled distinctly of hare, and Biara licked her lips despite herself. The second door, however, was clearly Nallmian's. The marten jiggled the doorknob ineffectually. _Well, I suppose it was worth a try._ Biara paced in front of the door, mentally weighing her options. On one paw, there was the matter of trust. Saveaux was being difficult and she wasn't sure she could trust many of the other guests, but Nallmian had proven to be a dependable ally, and certainly one that she didn't want on her bad side. On the other paw…

There was something locked away behind that door. The healer could only guess at what the gabby stoat could be hiding, but the more she thought about it, the more tantalizing it grew. Biara squared her shoulders decisively and narrowed her eyes, sizing up the door. It took her a while to find her pick, but she was able to make relatively short work of the lock itself. Several seasons ago, this sort of thing would have been daily routine.

Carefully, the marteness pushed the door open inch by inch until there was space enough to peek through. Squinting, Biara tried to identify Nallmian's shape on the bed, but to her surprise, there was none to be found. She pushed the door open just a bit more and slipped inside, creeping up to the bed on silent paws and finding it clearly devoid of stoat. Biara blinked. The bed was neatly made. Too neat. As if nobeast had actually slept in it. _Well. Imagine that._ The marten's tail curled. _Let's see what else you've got hidden here, my friend._

The marten shut the door and immediately began searching. There was nothing in the bed, or under it for that matter, and the only things to be found in the closet were a few uniforms and several overly frilly garments that clearly didn't originally belong to Nallmian. It was then that she noticed the bedside table. Admonishing herself on missing such a simple hiding place, the marten padded over and opened the top-most drawer, removing a plain wooden box that was filled with a brown powder.

It was clear that at one point there was much more of it, but now it barely accounted for a quarter of the box. The marten scooped up a moderate amount, inspecting it closely. It couldn't be poison, as the marten distinctly remembered seeing Nallmian pop the same brown powder into his mouth earlier. _Perhaps some kind of exotic spice?_ Biara mimicked the action and immediately blanched. _Yurgh! How revolting!_ The marten wrinkled her nose and decided that it was most definitely some kind of herbal medicine.

She shut the box distastefully and placed it carefully back inside the drawer. There was nothing of note in the second drawer. It seemed that disgusting powder was the only slightly odd thing that Nallmian had in his possession, and considering that the stoat was once apprenticed to a healer, it really wasn't odd at all.

Biara glanced toward the door, anxiety slowly creeping up into her belly. It was probably safer to just leave now before she risked getting caught. The marten padded back towards the door and checked to see if anybeast was outside before slipping out herself.

The marteness could feel her pulse quicken as the foolishness of what she'd done caught up with her. She had gotten so caught up in her investigation, and Nallmian could have returned at any time. A sudden sound made her jump, and Biara cursed softly when she realized it was just the trembling of her paw on the doorknob. _'Gates, what's gotten into me?_ She chided herself mentally as she slunk down the hallway. But there was definitely something off. She could feel it slowly filling the stairwell like a poisonous gas. It was as if somebeast was watching her, lurking, waiting for her to make a mistake, and that's when they would pounce.

Biara practically tore out of the stairwell onto the second floor hallway and nearly crashed headlong into Nallmian.

The marten died. Or at least felt as if she could have.

"Is everything alright?" Nallmian asked, tensing up. Biara didn't seem the type to get worked up about anything, and yet she looked as if she was seconds away from passing out. "What happened? Did somebeast attack you?"

Biara, meanwhile, had calmed down enough to speak coherently. "N-No," she breathed, trying to focus on slowing the hammering heartbeats that threatened to split her skull. "I just was, er, exploring and I heard something that reminded me of a rather terrible dream I just had," she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Nallmian raised an eyebrow and Biara inwardly cursed herself for not being able to come up with a better lie. _Huh, as if a sensible beast would be troubled by something silly like dreams._

Much to Biara's relief, however, Nallmian didn't press the issue any further. "Did you find anything interesting?"

The marten had a much firmer grip on her nerves. She shook her head. "No. I was trying to see if I could find any more of those pressure pads that Bernard was talking about earlier, but I haven't had any luck at all." She narrowed her eyes, "I have a sinking suspicion that he might not have been the most knowledgeable of servants. If we're to truly find out anything useful about the Professor and this castle, then I think it's best if we get a second opinion."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Nallmian said with a smirk. "Besides, you got to have all the fun with the last one. It's only fair that I get my turn!"

Biara chortled as the two mustelids began making their way down the hall. "Of course. I'm quite curious to see how a professional handles things."

"Oh, you'll get your coins worth." The stoat grinned, "I've been looking forward to this ever since your physical earlier today."

Biara paused at the head of the stairwell. "Speaking of which," she said with the twitch of an ear, "Where do you propose we find our servant? I don't know what the time is exactly, but I imagine there won't be quite as many about at this hour."

Nallmian nodded. "You're right, but that only means it'll be all the easier to bag one without getting caught. And after what happened to that little mousemaid earlier, there's less a chance of any of the other guests snooping around either. And what about a room? I'm guessing the last one we used is out of the question."

A slow smile crept over Biara's features. "Oh, don't worry about that. I think I have something passable in mind…"


	37. A Hole In The World

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 35. A Hole In The World****  
**

_by Nallmian  
_

Nallmian chuckled as Biara suggested a potential site for their little conversation with the next castle servant. "Well, I suppose if he's not there when we show up…"

"I checked earlier, and there was nobody in that room." Biara replied, still looking a little more jittery than usualy, but much calmer than when she had first run into Nallmian. "And it would serve him right. When I first ran into him, I was as polite as could be, but that squirrel just snarled at me for not magically knowing where he could find some prospective lady friend of his. Helga, or something like that. Although he said she was the Professor's niece, and considering who the professor is…"

Both mustelids smirked at the implication. "Well. Boohoohoo for him." Nallmian sneered "Maybe he's off brooding or pouting somewhere. He seems like the sort of rich prat who doesn't like it at all when life does not adhere precisely to his plans." The stoat glanced past Biara for a moment in the general direction of where they had left Saveaux. "What about the newt?"

"What about him? He was asleep when I checked. I don't know how deeply amphibians sleep, but he should be fine without us for a bit. Besides, I think you impressed on him the need for secrecy. I wouldn't worry about him running off and talking to anyone. And besides, even if he wanted to I'm not sure at all that he could." Biara replied.

"Fair enough." Nallmian said. "Come on, let's see if that room is empty. And then let's find one of those servants. I have something in mind that I've been wanting to try on those doll-eyed animate statues. It's been bouncing around in my head, and I just felt so…teased by watching the first conversation without getting a chance to try." The stoat said, with a particularly nasty smile. "And seeing that room gave me another idea. Similar to something that was done to me once, actually. Let me tell you, woodlanders greatly exaggerate their own hospitality, as a couple of captured skirmishers from Lord Whitefire's horde learned some time ago." The stoat said darkly. As soon as he had said it, he wondered if it was wise to discuss something like that with someone he still hadn't known for that long, but decided it was probably fine. Besides, Biara was hardly an innocent when it came to such things.

The mustelids set off for their destination, Biara walking at a somewhat brisker clip than normal, while Nallmian was if anything a bit slower than usual. He was not yet exhausted, but his muscles were starting to feel sore and cramped, and there was a dull, throbbing ache starting in his temples. The stoat had stopped by his own room while trying the key that Saveaux had found, and had been alarmed to discover that most of his brown powder was gone. There was still a little left in the box, and his hip pouch was almost full, but that still left him in a dangerous, long term situation with far less of it than he had counted on. He cursed himself for leaving it unguarded. Earlier, the adrenaline had helped keep him awake, but now the effects of fatigue were starting to set in after the second straight night of no sleep at all.

The stoat was in a good position now, but so much of that was contingent on his relatively high place in the esteem of his teammates. Saveaux at the very least seemed to fear him, while he and Biara had hit it off far better than he could have hoped for. But what would happen when he finally had to sleep in order to conserve the powder? What would happen when they saw him binding his muzzle shut, or heard him shrieking like a beast on fire in his sleep, or noticed that he had blood on his claws from tearing at himself in the night? What would they think of him then? Perhaps they would think him crazy, certainly they would think him weak. And either one of those would be a serious problem.

Nallmian tried to push these worries away, along with the drumbeat throbbing at either side of his head. He only got that particular type of headache due to fatigue, and now he very much wished to ignore it.

"I said we're here." Biara's voice suddenly cut in and Nallmian jumped slightly as he was brought suddenly back to the here and now. "You didn't seem to hear me the first two times."

"What? Oh, sorry. So this is where Desmond is lodged?" The marteness nodded, and Nallmian put his paw on the door knob, turning it as quietly as he could and opening the door very, very slowly, pressing up against the door, keeping it between him and the room in case the squirrel was within the room after all and threw something at the doorway. When neither missiles nor startled yells met the stoat, he quietly walked into the room, followed by Biara. A quick inspection confirmed that other than the two mustelids, the room was in fact empty. "Okay, no pompous squirrels in sight. Just give me a bit of time to get everything put together, and then we can go find another servant. Let's aim for an older one this time, since Bennie or Barry or whoever that last one was seemed like he was too junior."

To his credit, Dustin the mole didn't even look startled when Nallmian crept up behind him and suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. "Can I be of assistance, Captain Nallmian?" The mole droned, with no trace of an accent.

"There's a painting in one of the guest rooms of a ferret noble. That crazy otter—"

"Undefined modifier. Define adjective 'crazy' or substitute defined modifier on subject 'otter' or rephrase your query." The mole replied

Nallmian, despite himself, gawked. "I can't believe it. 'Undefined modifier'…are you servants all complete and total idiots? Does your professor even teach you to speak normally?"

"I fail to understand. Please restate your query."  
Nallmian rolled his eyes. "The otter. Is in a room with a painting. She is vanda—is destroying the painting because it has a ferret in it." The stoat said slowly and clearly. "Also, she's running with sharp objects, not cooking food at the proper temperature, and jumping on the bed while juggling heavy rocks, leaving candles unattended, throwing pub darts at the wooden furniture and cursing like a sailor, all at the same time."

"Disruptive conduct destroys the dignified atmosphere of the castle." The mole droned. "Such conduct cannot be tolerated."

"That's the spirit, mate! Now come on and I'll show you where she is so you can tell her off."

"Undefined subject. Define subject "mate" or substitute…."

"Forget it." Nallmian sighed as he led the mole back to Desmond's room. The mole opened the door to go in, and paused.

"Implementation error. Subject "otter" not in location consistent with—" Wham! While the mole was droning, Nallmian's paw grabbed the back of the tunneler's head and slammed the mole's face into the door, hard. The mole staggered slightly, but did not go down, and Nallmian felt a flash of annoyance at himself for somehow failing to knock out the much smaller creature immediately. He tried a second time, and this time the mole went down.

"Well, Captain Stoat, it looks like there's injured servants all over this castle." Biara said, walking up where Nallmian stood over the fallen Dustin. "If only beasts took better care of themselves. But then again, if nobody ever got hurt, they wouldn't need medics, so if fate hands you lemons…"

"Strap fate down, cram them down Fate's throat. and take the oranges off its dead body before leaving the mangled remains as a warning to other animistic deities that try to stiff you?"

"No. Not what I had in mind exactly." The marteness inspected the mole more closely. "'Hmm. Looks like he might need some dental work, too. Now, let's see what exactly you had in mind with those ropes…."

A short while later, Dustin the mole woke up—and immediately went tense as he realized that he was hanging in midair suspended by his ankle, with what was for a mole far too much space between himself and the ground. Training or no trainng, experimentation or no experimentation, there were some instincts too basic to be removed. Moles were happiest on the ground or under it, not hanging in midair looking down at the face of a cheerful looking stoat and a slightly less gleeful but still clearly amused female pine marten.

"Disruption of the castle staff is unacceptable conduct that must be immediately discontinued." The mole said, his monotone having grown just a little tenser, a little less imperious. Nallmian just smirked, able to hear on the mole's voice the fact that this was not his element.

The stoat had found a long length of rope that he had tossed over a beam in the ceiling. One end was tied to the mole's ankle, with the other pulled taut, raising the mole into the air. Having not fought one face to face in some time, Nallmian was surprised at how small and light the mole was. He had secured the end of the rope not tied to the mole around the leg of a table. This created a sort of crude pulley with which the mole could be raised or lowered, but which was currently holding the mole in place.

"Hello again, mate. Fancy seeing you here…" Nallmian leered at the mole. He was standing almost right under the mole, with just enough distance to allow the mole to look at him. Biara was perched on the edge of the writing desk, watching the mole pretend it wasn't afraid of heights.

"Undefined subject. Define—" SMACK! Nallmian hopped up and whacked the mole hard on the nose with an open paw. Dustin managed not to cry out, but his body went rigid at the blow to what was already a very sensitive muzzle.

"Here's how this works from now on. Every time you give me any of that bilge about undefined whatever, I hit your muzzle exactly where it met the door. We'll see how you like having a nosebleed when you're hanging upside down."

"I understand, Captain Nallmian." The mole said. "This conduct must stop, however. Inappropriate and disruptive conduct such as this detracts from the—aaah!" The mole was unable to resist a short yelp as Nallmian jumped into the air again and smacked the mole in the face a second time, this time hard enough to send the mole swinging backwards. A small drizzle of blood began to spurt from the mole's damaged snout, and droplets scattered on the floor as the digger swung on the rope.

"And another thing. I don't want to hear about how we're destroying the ambiance of the place. This is not a high class inn, this is not a theater, this is not anything at all that we have any reason to preserve the atmosphere of. This is a gameboard where some decrepit old owl is getting his vicarious jollies out of sending us to our deaths. No, we're going to talk hard facts, and if I don't like what I hear, you're muzzle's going to be sticking out of the back of your head by the time we're through. Am I clear?"

"Very clear, Captain Nallmian. Unfortunately, your conduct may force the Professor to terminate your participation in the experiment."

"So far we've lost two creatures out of our ten. And both of them were accidents. Or if they weren't, they were killed by other guests, not by the professor. I'd say we're pretty safe." Biara said.

"It is not advisable to underestimate the professor, Nurse Biara."

"Nurse Biara?" The marteness snatched up a paperweight from the desk and threw it at the mole, hitting it in the chest. The digger tried to curl up in pain, but couldn't maintain that position while upside down and slumped back into his normal posture, breath sobbing slightly. "I didn't go through all those years of medical training to be called Nurse! Do you call your boss Mister Falliss? No? Well then don't call me Nurse Biara!"

"The two of us had a little conversation with a certain squirrel coworkers of yours. We asked him about ways into and out of the castle. He didn't know any, because he was too young. But you're older than him, and I chose you partially because of that. I live in a castle, and I know they have secret entrances. So where are the secret entrances on this castle?"

"There are none, Captain Nallmian."

"Wrong answer, mole." Nallmian jumped up again and smacked the mole in the face once more, causing another little spurt of blood.

"There are no secret entrances, Captain Nallmian. The badger who last owned this castle before the Professor was very paranoid. He had all entrances sealed to prevent assassins from slipping in or his kin and servants from slipping out. That's why there are no windows or secret entrances. The only breach is for water, and that goes into a lake. You'd drown if you tried to go out through that."

"Really? No entrances at all? Well that's not good. Where's a good weak point for us to try to batter our way out? I'm sure somewhere around here there's a book on siege engineering that we can use to sap a wall from the inside."

"There are no such weaknesses, Captain, the Professor was very thorough in ensuring that his experiment would not end prematurely.

"Okay, then we'll end it for him. How do we get to the Professor?" Biara asked, her tail twitching in annoyance from this repeat of the last interrogation.

"I do not know."

Nallmian walked away from the mole and grabbed a chair, dragging it back towards the mole and climbing onto it.  
"Climbing on the furniture—" Dustin suddenly shut up as Nallmian's face came up to his level.

"You know, mole, it's very rude when a lady asks you a question and you don't answer." Nallmian grabbed the moles shoulders and began rotating it around, twisting the rope more and more and more. Then he let go and hopped off the chair, watching as the rope uncoiled, the stored potential energy from the twisted rope unleashing itself in a stomach churning way as it spun the mole around and around. Dustin kept his mouth very tightly shut as his stomach heaved. As he began to slow down, Nallmian leapt up on the chair, quickly twisted the rope back, and let go again. The mole was unable this time to avoid heaving a small amount of bile, which almost landed in Nallmian's face. Instead it hit his shoulder and the stoat distastefully wiped it off. Some more of it got on the floor, along with flecks of blood from the nosebleed, which seemed to be getting worse, splattering more and more red droplets.

"Now, are you going to be a good little moley and tell us how to find the Professor, or do I have to get unpleasant?" Nallmian asked.

"I do not know how to find the Professor."

"Well, then can you give us his regular schedule and habits and all the information on him that you can so we can kill him next time he shows up?"

"Absolutely not, Captain Nallmian. Obedience to Professor Falliss is our primary mandate. All other objectives, including personal survival, are secondary to the Professor's comfort and safety."

"You know, I think that was the wrong answer." Nallmian said. He jumped off the chair, went over to the table and grabbed something off of it. Climbing back onto the chair, he quickly gagged the mole with a piece of cloth, forcing a wad of it into the mole's mouth and tying it around the mole's muzzle. However, it was immediately obvious that this was no ordinary piece of cloth. It was grimy, rotten, falling apart in a dozen places and covered with a filthy grey dust that stank terribly. As soon as the mole tasted it he dropped all pretense of equanimity, eyes bulging and tears welling as he screamed a muffled scream and tried desperately to force it out of his mouth, gagging and choking.

Nallmian snarled, his past chipperness gone, replaced with something almost feral.

"You know where I got the cloth? From the room where the king locked up his servants! That was part of a shirt worn by some dessicated corpse of a mouse, a body dead for longer than any of us has been alive. You're tasting death and decay and rot, Dustin. And you know who gave me the idea for this little number? Well, let's just say that you can learn a lot about woodlanders when you're on the wrong side of their righteousness, or the wrong side of their strongholds. Spend a few months in a dark, wet, stinking ditch under a Freedom's Lances fort and then tell me how much you believe that the voices in their heads are pure ones, that the invisble paws guiding theirs are righteous." The stoat hissed, fangs flashing, ears flat against his head

"I'm just reproducing one of their little games. In my case it was the wing of a bird, dead enough that I could feel the maggots squirm and writhe upon my tongue, the antennae of the foraging beetles brushing against the sides of my mouth, tickling the edges of my throat." The stoat's voice was very quiet, but very clear "Dustin, I'm going to take that cloth off in a bit, and you're going to tell me everything I ask you. Because I'm not smiling any more, and when I'm not smiling,that means other beasts are going to be crying."

And Dustin broke. He answered Nallmian's questions as much as he could, and when he said he didn't know, Nallmian believed him, because he understood that he was dealing with a shattered creature. He told Nallmian about the Professor's past, about the architecture of the castle, the rivalry between Jeremy and Agatha, the badger lord, everything else that the mole knew. He couldn't tell Nallmian how to escape, or how to kill the Professor, but he told a great deal before he was done. And when he was, Nallmian simply hopped off the chair and slashed the rope with his knife, dropping the mole several feet onto the floor.

The mole winced as he landed mostly on his head and back. But he didn't get up. Not at first. He just sat there, staring ahead, his face as impassive as it had been at the start, but now with his body immobile to match. Slowly he dragged himself to a sitting position, but what little animation he had had was gone from him now. And Nallmian was smiling once again, looking pleased, sated, if tired and drained. Reaching to his belt pouch, he took out a pinch of the brown powder, at this point barely caring to conserve it, and popped it into his mouth. And within a few minutes he was fully back to normal, the cheerfulness of his face and voice fully restored.

"Well, that certainly took the wind out of his sails. I hope you were paying attention to everything he was saying, Biara, because I was feeling a little tired myself…"  
Just then, the door burst open, and in stumbled a rather surprised looking Desmond, still in his pajamas. He stopped short when he saw the mess on the floor and then looked at each of the beasts in the room in turn.

"If you don't mind me asking," he said irritably, "What on earth are you doing in here?" His scowl became even deeper as the scent of blood, vomit, and fear reached him. "And what are you doing to the mole? Is he one of the servants?"

"Yes. Desmond, meet Dustin." Nallmian said, his grin coming back wider than ever.  
"Dustin, say hello to Desmond". The mole was at this point almost unresponsive with terror, and just sat there, shivering and staring blankly ahead, so Nallmian grabbed the mole's arm and waved it as if the mole were greeting the squirrel,while the stoat said in a high, squeaky voice. "Hi Desmond! I'm Dustin the mole! " Biara tittered slightly, both amused and glad for loosening of the tension in the room. Desmond only looked more annoyed.

"Stop this nonsense at once!" Desmond snapped. "A damaged servant is of no use to anybeast, and it seems you've broken that one beyond repair. Haven't either of you go any respect for another beast's property?" The squirrel looked around in distaste, taking in the spattered blood and stomach bile, and the rotten strip of cloth from the tomb room. "How did just the two of you manage to make such a mess?"

"Awww, don't be mad at the nice weasels, Desmond!" "The mole" said in that same goofy voice. "They didn't know you hadn't gotten dressed yet!"

"Seriously!" Nallmian chimed in, switching back his own regular voice. "How do you expect to survive in this castle when you can't even dress yourself? Is this what happens when your mother isn't around to check your clothes on the way out the door?"

"Leave my relatives out of this," Desmond growled. "The point is, if you absolutely can't resist the temptation to damage the help, kindly do it somewhere else rather than in MY room. Where were you raised, in a barn?" The squirrel paused. "Oh, wait, vermin horde, I forgot. Didn't mean to insult beasts born in barns."

"Well at least I have a real job, Desmond, and a real purpose for being here! You just came here to court what you thought was a rich squirrelmaid so you could marry her for her money and inflict your progeny on the world. Sorry Desmond, but it seems that your princess is in another castle!" The stoat's smirk deepened.

"Actually, if Falliss even has a niece, that would make her an owl. I didn't take you for being that…adventurous, Desmond."

"You have a job because some vermin warlord needed mindless killers to go out and do his dirty work for him, and you happened to fit the bill very nicely. You're only a captain of anything because your peers are even lower than you. It's time you recognized that I'm your social better, and accepted that.

Biara frowned slightly. "Now hold on, Desmond. You tried to pull this egotistical 'social superior' number on me when we met. I'm a medic. He's a horde captain. You're a…I don't even know what you are, but it doesn't seem as though you have any particular skills other than being filled with hot air and having a great sneer."

"Don't be ridiculous. I see that scar of yours. You're another gutter beast who just happened to make good and drag herself up a bit. I can respect that, but not enough to look at you rather than looking down. As for you…" He raised an eyebrow at Nallmian. "You may be clever enough to lead hordebeasts, but standards must have plummeted if your warlord promoted a captain who spends most of his time prancing about like a bloodthirsty jester, cracking idiotic jokes and forgetting that there are some beasts that belong on top and some that don't."

During this time, the mole had started to recover from his shock enough to try to crawl away from Nallmian. However, Nallmian kicked the mole back over again, and leaned over him, knife in paw. "Say goodbye to Desmond, Dustin!"

"Bye Desmond!" Nallmian ventriloquized in "the mole's" voice, before plunging his knife into the mole's back. To Desmond's credit, the squirrel barely flinched. And when he did react, his reaction was very different than what Nallmian had expected. More than anything, the squirrel simply looked annoyed at the inconvenience.

"Oh, 'gates, now look what you've gone and done! It's going to get everywhere." He glared at the stoat. "And once you've spilled blood, it's VERY hard to get the stains out. Usually you can't." For the briefest instant, his armor seemed to crack a bit, but the moment passed. "Where am I supposed to sleep, now that you've gone and made a tremendous mess of my chamber?!"

"Well, we thought you weren't using it when we planned this." Nallmian "We thought you were bunking with the hare, or that you and one of the female squirrel servants here really were that desperate."

"Yes, well, sorry to spoil your plans for the evening, but I'm afraid I still need a place to sleep." The squirrel raked a paw through his fur, eying the pools of blood on the floor with distaste. "As using this room is out of the question, I'll simply take yours as a replacement."

"You sure about that? I wouldn't want you to have to breathe air that's been inhaled and exhaled already by us lower orders." Nallmian said.

"It's better than a room that has this kind of mess in it! I demand that you take me there at once, so I can get some semblance of sleep before daybreak."

Nallmian did an exaggerated bow. "Yes sir, Lord Baron Earl Squirrel Knight Count King Potentate, sir! We humble peons are but your serfs, my liege!"

Biara sighed. "Alright, you can follow us back to where we're staying. But please do behave yourself a little better. Just because two of us have died is no reason to completely toss aside normal civility."

" Just remember one thing. There's an awful lot of ways a creature could hurt themselves in this castle. If you talk to much about the mole, well, there could be a terrible medical emergency that our resident medic just might not be able to handle." Nallmian said

"And of course, that would make you a happy little stoat, wouldn't it," Desmond frowned.

"You think we want that? You wound us, good sir." The stoat beamed at Desmond, the picture of innocence. "We're just a pair of a poor widdle mustelids trapped in a castle trying to survive. We'd never hurt anybody!"

The trio walked out of the room as the blood seeping from the mole began to go cold.


	38. With Friends Like These

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 36. With Friends Like These****  
**

_by Desmond  
_

Desmond yawned, stretching his arms up as far as they could reach, and then sat back in his armchair, situated comfortably in front of the lounge fireplace. The orange flames blazed dutifully, encasing him in delightful waves of heat. He could feel his fur drying out from the blazing warmth, but he was too comfortable to move the armchair further away from the fire.

It had been a rotten day. That mousemaid – Rene, or something like that – had died that morning, apparently by some sort of accident. He was beginning to wonder about these "accidents"; Flynn had been the only one with Sootpaws when he died, and now Kima had been alone with the mouse. Desmond had thought that the others, like him, were more intent on finding an escape than simply going along with Falliss's wishes, but perhaps he'd been wrong.

Quincy certainly hadn't given up, though. Desmond mentally groaned at the thought of the hare; earlier that afternoon, things had come to a head between Quincy, Flynn, and himself.

"This is why we have to stay together," Quincy had reiterated, as the three searched an unoccupied bedroom on the second floor. "If we're all together, then… accidents… are less likely to happen."

"Don't be silly," Desmond scoffed. "As long as there's more than one of us alive, these little 'accidents' are bound to go on happening."

Flynn, who had been ignoring both of them for the past half hour suddenly turned her glare on him. "Are you saying that the guests have been murdering each other?"

Desmond smiled condescendingly. "That seems quite likely, yes. Kima was the only one with the mouse when she died – why should we believe any 'accident' excuse she comes up with? You were the only one with Sootpaws when he was killed, for that matter," he said pointedly.

"There's no way of proving that anyone killed anyone else," Quincy said, an edge to his voice.

Desmond shrugged. "Maybe you don't think so," he said, "But I'm afraid not all of us uphold your ridiculous ideals of peace and harmony."

To his credit, Quincy didn't strike back. "Well, someone has to." He paused and then gestured the squirrel over. "Help me move the bed away from the wall."

Desmond, who had moved what he was convinced had to be a lifetime's worth of furniture during the course of the day, was finished.

"No."

And he had promptly put the rest of the day to good use, reading a novel from the library in front of the Lounge fire, moving only when dinner was served and then returning to the spot.

Desmond closed his eyes, resting the book against his chest. He was at a dull section, where Lady Smythe packed all of her seventy-two hats as she prepared to make a journey to court to arrange her son's marriage, and his mind had begun to wander. He was rather tired, too, no doubt from waking early again that morning and then searching for most of the day…

The "Thump!" the book made when it fell from his paws to the floor didn't wake him.

*

When he woke, it was dark, and the fire had died down to glowing coals. Desmond rubbed his eyes and blinked owlishly as he sat up and looked around the room; it felt like after midnight. Why hadn't someone woken him so he could sleep in his chamber? He frowned, getting to his footpaws and wincing; his cramped position on the sofa had left him sore.

Still trying to blink the sleep from his eyes, the squirrel made his way to the second floor, trudging up the stairs and almost walking into his door before he noticed it was closed. He didn't remember closing it – perhaps the servants had, though, after they'd cleaned…

Desmond stepped inside and wondered if he was dreaming. There were other beasts in his room – two of them standing upright and looking at him with surprise, and a third crumpled on the floor. The last traces of fuzziness left him as the reek of blood and vomit hit his senses, and he wondered why Nallmian and Biara were killing somebeast in his room.

"If you don't mind me asking," he said snidely, "What on earth are you doing in here? And what are you doing to the mole? Is he one of the servants?"

Blast. It would take hours to clean the floor, and longer to be rid of the smell. He cursed silently. He hadn't cared much about Nallmian before, but after only a few minutes arguing with the stoat, Desmond thoroughly disliked him. He was so disgustingly coarse, so callous.

"Just remember one thing. There's an awful lot of ways a creature could hurt themselves in this castle. If you talk too much about the mole, well, there could be a terrible medical crisis that she just might not be able to handle."

Desmond raised his eyebrows. "And of course, that would make you a happy little stoat, wouldn't it." He didn't doubt it; Nallmian was the sort who would pick the other guests off one by one just to make it out alive. If it weren't for the fact that the stoat hadn't been anywhere near the two guests when they had died, Desmond would have suspected that the vermin had had something to do with the deaths.

The two vermin stepped out of the room to lead him to Nallmian's chamber and the squirrel, after collecting a change of clothing, followed. They were about to pass the library when Biara stopped and looked at the other two.

"Just a minute," she said, striding toward one of the closed doors. "I want to check on Saveaux." She knocked softly on the door, waited, and then went in; abruptly, she stuck her head out and waved the other two over. They came quickly and joined her inside the room.

"He's gone," she said, sounding irritated.

Desmond yawned. "Hiding?" he suggested disinterestedly.

Nallmian shook his head. "Somebeast took him," he said. "There are signs of a struggle." He gestured to spots of blood, overturned furniture, and clumps of fur. Bending to retrieve one of the last, he wrinkled his nose when he smelled it. "Squirrel," he announced.

Desmond felt their gazes settle on him. "Either I did or I didn't," he shrugged, setting one of the chairs upright and sitting down comfortably. "You tell me." He smiled in a way calculated to annoy them.

"So that's why you weren't in your room," Nallmain said accusingly.

"Nice try, Desmond," said Biara lightly, commanding the attention of both males, "but you're a dreadful liar, even if we pretended that you would take the time to pick a fight with a newt. For one thing, you clearly don't show any signs of having been in any sort of a scuffle, and for another..." She held up a pawful of the fur. "It's the wrong color."

Desmond shrugged as Nallmian relaxed. "There you have it," he said. He paused and then mused, "And if it wasn't me, then it must have been one of the servants." He looked at the other two in turn. "And why," he continued, louder, "Would the servants want to kidnap the newt, mm?"

The vermin were silent for a moment, and then Biara spoke. "The mole was not the first to have fallen."

Desmond coughed, amused by her way of putting it. "You mean you've killed other servants." There had been a squirrel found dead, he remembered suddenly; he'd been too drowsy to remember that before, but now it all made sense.

Nallmian rolled his eyes. "No, she means that the castle floors are slippery when wet and accidents are common."

Fortunately, Desmond was too tired to fully grasp the sarcasm. "Pardon me?"

"No, seriously, I don't really think you want to know the answer that badly." Nallmian smirked at him.

Biara sighed and straightened her posture, speaking in a business like tone. "There's no use dancing around the issue, Nallmian. Yes, we did it. It was the only way to make sure they would get serious."

Desmond raised his eyebrows. "Did you find anything out?"

Biara shook her head. "Nothing that we didn't already know to start with."

Desmond nodded. "You think – they took the newt as a warning, then? To stop you from killing any of the others?"

The marten nodded. "That seems sensible, yes."

"And what do you plan to do about it?" Desmond sat back in his chair, studying their faces.

"Rescue him, of course." She shrugged. "He has important information that could help us escape."

"Sounds lovely," Desmond drawled, "And I wish you luck, of course. But I'm really quite fatigued – do you suppose we could…"

Nallmian cut him off. "The longer we leave this, the less likelihood we have of getting him back alive," he said, a slight rasp coloring his voice.

Desmond sighed irritably. "Well, at least let _me_ sleep," he said. "This has nothing to do with me; you were idiots, and now your little friend is gone. Have fun getting him back." He stood up, flicking his gaze to Nallmian. "Your room is on the third floor, isn't it? I'll find it myself."

He strode toward the door, but Nallmian beat him there and slammed it shut. "Not so fast," he said.

Desmond looked at him and shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm not going to help you."

"Yes," said Nallmian calmly, "I think you are."

The squirrel held his paws out, palms up. "What do you expect me to do, then? I'm certainly not going watch your backs and expose myself to all sorts of danger."

"We need a distraction," Biara cut in, stepping toward them. "We need you to keep as many servants as possible occupied somewhere out of the way."

Desmond laughed. "Oh, wonderful," he said sarcastically. "And how do you propose I do that? Have you spoken to them recently? When you're not torturing them, I mean. Keeping a lot of overexcited kits occupied would be easier."

"Think of something," Nallmian snapped. He seemed more irritable than he had before.

Desmond sighed and thought for a moment. "A ball," he said at last.

"What?!" Both vermin stared at him incredulously.

"A ball." He shrugged. "There aren't enough guests for one, so we command the servants to make up the numbers."

"You really believe they'll go to a ball," Nallmian sneered. "Think again, squirrel; charming as you think you are, I think you'll have a little trouble convincing them to attend."

"Nonsense. They've been instructed to follow our orders, provided we don't tell them to let us out or anything like that. A ball's innocent enough; there's no reason that they wouldn't comply. And," he added, smirking as a new idea hit him, "With a little help from our medic friend, we can drug the refreshments. Once they eat or drink anything, even if they do leave, they'll be helpless to stop you."

Biara considered and nodded. "It might just work," she allowed.

Nallmian shrugged. "Fine then," he gave in. "You can have your ball tomorrow night."

Desmond held up a paw. "Not so fast," he said. "My helping you is all very well, but, not to be cliché, what's in it for me?"

"You get to leave this room without any mysterious new scars?" Nallmian suggested.

"Don't be so melodramatic," Desmond scoffed. "The other guests will find out it was you. They'll probably think you did away with Saveaux, as well. How long do you think you'll last when they decide they'd be safer without you around?" He let that sink in before continuing. "Aside from which, if you kill me now, you'll have to find some other beast to be your distraction for you. And I don't think everybeast is going to be quite so understanding about your methods of getting information."

"Reasonable enough." Biara nodded curtly. "What do you want?"

The squirrel smiled thoughtfully. "Nothing much. Just a promise from both of you that you'll look out for my safety should we get into any tight situations in the future."

The two vermin exchanged glances. "Fine," said Nallmian. Desmond was surprised that they didn't put up an argument, but then, perhaps they had no intention of doing as he asked.

"Please understand, if you fail to keep up your end of the agreement, I'll see to it that my death points directly to the two of you." He mentally cursed himself for not having waited until he had better blackmail on them; he didn't trust either of them farther than he could spit, but still, any promise of protection was better than nothing right now. Provided they never had to choose between saving his life and their own, he had a feeling they'd keep to the agreement.

"Now," said Desmond, glaring at Nallmian, who was still blocking the exit, "Would it be possible to find a place to sleep before another day's begun?"

*

Desmond announced his intention to throw a ball the next morning at the breakfast table. Aside from Nallmian and Biara, the other guests were all taken by surprise.

"Shouldn't we be looking for a way out instead of throwing a party?" Rhea pointed out.

Desmond glanced at Nallmian and Biara. They had discussed how much they should reveal to the others, and he'd come up with several excuses.

"We've been searching for two days, now," he said carefully. "I think we're all ready for a rest. And besides, this will give us a chance to get to know each other better."

"I think some of us have gotten to know each other all too well," Flynn shot back.

Desmond opened his mouth to reply but was surprised when Quincy spoke in his defense.

"I think it's a good idea," he said. "Desmond's right. I think we're all ready for a break." He shrugged.

"Any other objections?" Desmond asked the others. A few of them mumbled to themselves, but none spoke out. "Excellent. I expect to see you all in the ballroom at eight o' clock this evening. Oh, and please dress for the occasion." Feeling pleased with himself, he settled down to finish his breakfast.

The rest of the day was spent overseeing the preparation of the ballroom and inviting all the servants to the event. Desmond pinned a general invitation to the ballroom door with a dagger he'd taken from the armory and then instructed every servant he ran into over the course of the day to attend. As luck would have it, the first one he met was the rattess they'd overheard arguing with Jeremy the day before, Agatha. She seemed to be in favor of the idea and agreed to see to it that as many servants came as possible.

He was in his element, and he couldn't help thinking, as he dressed in Nallmian's room for the evening, that his plan was undeniably brilliant. Not only would he be keeping the servants out of Nallmian's and Biara's way, but he'd be enjoying himself at the same time. And he was curious to see how the servants reacted when they were drugged, particularly a certain little squirrelmaid.

He frowned slightly. It would have been perfect, if only he'd been able to sleep properly the night before. Lack of sleep had left him with a dull ache just behind his eyes all day, and though it was hardly more than an annoyance, it was always _there_, threatening to grow into a full-blown headache.

Desmond jumped slightly when somebeast knocked on the door, and he quickly finished adjusting his cravat in the mirror. "Come in," he called.

The door swung open and Biara and Nallmian entered, closing it behind them.

"Finished primping?" the marten asked cheerfully.

Desmond smirked. "Almost." He gave his cravat one last tweak and then turned to face her. "Did you see to drugging the food?"

"Of course. Try to remember not to eat or drink anything."

Desmond nodded. "Easy enough. Shall we go to the ballroom, then?" He paused and grimaced, touching his forehead. "This would be a lot easier if I'd been able to sleep longer last night," he said grumpily.

"Poor little sleepy Desmond!" Nallmian squeaked mockingly. "How will you manage?"

Biara spoke up before they had time to start an argument. "I have some tea you can drink," she said. "It should help you feel more awake." She handed him a teabag.

Desmond accepted it, surprised by the act of generosity. "My thanks," he muttered.

She shrugged, her eyes twinkling oddly. "Any time," she said graciously, and started out the door.

*

Desmond sent one of the servants to fetch him a mug of hot water and steeped the tea bag in it for a few minutes when they returned. The tea was quite good, and he finished it quickly before addressing the small crowd that had gathered in the ballroom.

"Welcome!" he greeted them all, smiling politely. "Some of you may be wondering why you're here." He nodded to the servants. "As there would otherwise be a shortage of guests, we found it necessary to invite many of you as well. Please, just enjoy yourselves for the evening; there's no need for you to wait on anybeast." He clapped his paws. "Let the evening begin!"

A small group of servants in one corner struck up a slow waltz; Desmond winced. Their playing was precise enough, but the music was as dead as their expressions. Trying to ignore the hollow tune, he selected a glass of wine and began to circulate, encouraging the servants to help themselves to the refreshments.

Within minutes, his head had stopped hurting and his thoughts felt clearer. Whatever he might think of Biara's lack of charm, she was certainly an excellent herbalist. He was even feeling rather jolly.

The squirrel stopped when he caught sight of the squirrelmaid he'd been dying to meet again. There was no time like the present, after all. He bit down laughter as he made his way to her side and offered her the wine.

"Lovely evening," he observed by way of greeting. She didn't reply, merely accepting the wine and then holding it hesitantly for a moment before taking a sip. The taste seemed to surprise her, and she drank a little more.

"You never told me your name," Desmond remarked, studying her face. She was even prettier in the exquisite lighting of the ballroom.

"It's Emilie," she informed him.

"Emilie," Desmond repeated. He bowed. "Would you care to dance?"

"I'm afraid I don't know how," she said.

"I'll teach you as we go along." Desmond took her empty glass and set it aside before arranging her arms into their proper positions. "Just follow my lead."

She was initially jerky in doing so, but as the dance wore on, her motions took on a sort of lethargic grace. Desmond smiled; Biara had done her work well.

Abruptly, she pulled him to a stop. "What's happening?" she asked, clinging to him in terror. "I feel strange." She paused, and then said in an odd voice, "Your eyes are blue. I never noticed before."

Desmond laughed. He couldn't help it; the whole situation was simply too amusing to do otherwise. She tried to pull away, disturbed by his reaction, but he tightened his grip on her paws.

"It's just…" he chuckled. "So funny."

"What?" She asked, staring at him.

Desmond let her paws go. "The marten," he said between giggles. "My tea. The blasted marten drugged me."


	39. The Best Deceptions

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 37. The Best Deception****s  
**

_by Quincy  
_

Quincy's hope for the guests to cooperate was dwindling nearly as fast as their chances of finding Professor Falliss. Desmond had finally called it quits. Although, the hare thought as he watched the underdressed squirrel retreating, he'd never really begun in the first place.

"Hmph. Good riddance. We might actually get _more_ done with him gone," growled Flynn.

True, the hare and otter moved through the castle more efficiently without having to frequently stop and remind Desmond of how useless he was being, but even their increased productivity did not yield any fruitful results. To make matters worse, Flynn wasn't exactly the most amicable of partners. Quincy's every attempt at conversation was met with terse replies followed by stony silence.

So stifling was the air between them that Quincy was almost relieved when Flynn said, "It's hopeless, I'm tired, and I'm hungry. Let's leave it for the night."

Quincy merely nodded in agreement, and the pair made their way downstairs. Suddenly, Quincy grabbed Flynn's arm and stopped her on the landing.

"D'you see this?" he hissed, shaking his head in annoyance.

Jolice was making her way up from the basement stairs, her eyes glazed over with the same lifeless servility of the castle's inhabitants, the front of her dress smudged with dirt.

"It's a servant with dirty clothes?" Flynn guessed.

"No, it's just...I've seen Jolice hanging around the basement three times since we've gotten here. She was down there last night, and I noticed her skulking around there this morning when we first started our search."

Flynn looked surprised that Quincy knew her name. "Jolice? Is she a friend of yours or something?"

The haremaid caught sight of Quincy and Flynn, froze for one brief moment and strode briskly into the armory.

"Yes. Or at least, I thought she was."

Quincy almost wanted Flynn to inquire further, but the otter clearly wasn't interested in the hare's personal life.

"Well," she said, "maybe she's just been assigned to clean the basement or something."

"A basement can't need that much cleaning. Have you been down there? They haven't made much of an attempt at making it presentable for us guests. That's probably why they put poor Soot—"

The carelessly chosen words died in Quincy's throat. Flynn's jaw tightened tensely, and the most uncomfortable silence yet fell between them.

"Er, let's just go get dinner, shall we?" said Quincy finally.

"Aye."

Upon entering the dining room, Quincy's gloomy spirits were lifted somewhat by the tantalizing aromas wafting through the air. He hadn't realized how little he'd gotten to eat since he'd arrived at the castle, but now, with everyone gathered together, and with the atmosphere decidedly more relaxed than it had been at their last dinner, Quincy's focus shifted to fulfilling more immediate desires.

And although he was indeed a unique hare by many accounts, when it came to his appetite he was perfectly (and ravenously) normal.

* * *

Considering the circumstances, Quincy slept relatively well that night. A hot meal followed by a hot bath had calmed the young hare enough to be able to drift off to sleep fairly quickly. He awoke to the sound of a bell tinkling for breakfast and stretched languidly before huddling deeper into his nest of warm, soft sheets, nuzzling his pillow with a contented sigh.

Then, of course, he remembered where he was. The hare rolled onto his back and stared at the embroidered flowers on the canopy of his four-poster, suddenly feeling much less comfortable. Yesterday had not gone as planned, and now Raine was dead. Two deaths in the same day. Both appeared to be accidents. Quincy wanted more than anything to believe they both were, but with what the professor had said, and with the kind of company he was keeping, it didn't seem likely. Unfortunately there really was no way of proving they weren't accidents, as he'd told Desmond yesterday, so he felt it was only right to give them the benefit of the doubt...for now.

When Desmond announced at breakfast that they were going to have a ball that evening, Quincy couldn't dredge up the energy to tell him how much of a ridiculous waste of time that would be. After all the tension, it might be nice for them not to be at each others' throats for once.

* * *

That evening, Quincy entered the ballroom, clad in pair of smart black trousers and a faded red tunic with gold trim. Desmond had just finished giving some sort of welcoming speech, and the band struck up a very mechanical tune. The hare snorted at how silly Desmond looked in his suit. Then the snobbish squirrel practically made a beeline for a pretty squirrelmaid and dragged her reluctantly to the dance floor.

Quincy leaned against the wall, watching the proceedings with his paws folded across his chest. He was forcefully reminded of the parties and dances at Salamandastron and their accompanying awkwardness, asking beautiful haremaids to dance. His heart had pounded, the fear of rejection prowling about him in tight circles, constricting his breathing.

However...this situation was different. The servants couldn't say no, and if he felt the desire to, say, ask a certain hare to dance, she would have to comply. A plan began to form in Quincy's mind. Emboldened, he began to wend his way across the crowded dance floor.

Well, now that was strange. The squirrelmaid looked frightened as Desmond held her tight, laughing uproariously about something. And yet, she was barely attempting to resist his grasp, as if she just didn't have the strength to.

"Emilie, are you all right? Bo hurr!" A mole near the pair clapped his paws to his mouth at his sudden rustic outburst. "Oi mean, er, I mean, he has not harmed you, has he?"

Quincy felt someone bump him from behind. Turning, he saw a lanky ferret servant munching a pasty with a vacuous grin on his face.

"Weel noo, Ah apologize, laddie, I didnae see ye there!"

"It's...fine..." Quincy muttered bewilderedly. What was going on? He'd only ever heard the servants speak in the same, flat tone.

The ferret brushed by, calling, "Ach, Reuben, mate, 'ave ye tried these braw pasties?"

By now some of the servants had managed to pry Desmond and Emilie apart. Or rather, they led Emilie away while Desmond lay flat on his back in the middle of the dance floor, giggling fit to burst. Fearing he might be trampled, Quincy hurried forward and helped him to his feet.

"Quincy! So nice of you to show, hohoh!"

The hare helped keep the squirrel steady as they made their way off the dance floor. "What's going on here, chap? You're never happy to see anything that's not female and gorgeous. Why are the servants acting so strange?"

"Oh, Biara, you crafty thing...You've gone and made me see two Quincies! Right, now which of you is the real one and which of you is a frog in bunny clothes...?"

"...Holy _'Gates_, Desmond." Quincy set him down in a chair by the wall. "Biara was behind this? What did she do? And...hang on, where is she?"

Quincy hadn't even noticed that three of the guests were absent until he did a quick head count. But why wouldn't they have come?

Then it struck him. "I should have known even you wouldn't want to hold a ball just for fun in this awful place." He sighed. "I suppose they're doing some sort of group research and needed the servants distracted?"

"Ehh, something like that. Ack! Which one of you just said that?" Desmond's eyes widened in sluggish confusion.

"Come on, mate, go have a kip, sleep it off, wot?"

Quincy turned to leave but felt a sharp tugging on his shirt.

"Quincy! Quincyyyy!"

"What?" the hare snapped.

Desmond pulled the hare close to him, his brow furrowed seriously. "Don't...just don't eat, okay? Unless you really, super want to. I understand if you do." He finished this sage advice with a wobbly nod of the head.

"Right."

Quincy extricated himself from Desmond's grip, shaking his head in disbelief as he headed back out onto the dance floor. Whatever Biara had put in the food, it had more than done the trick. Why Desmond himself had partaken of the tainted meal was anyone's guess, and it didn't bother Quincy unduly. He even thought he preferred the squirrel in this state as opposed to his usual haughty self.

There were a lot more smiles and gusts of laughter on the dance floor by now, and the dancers whirled and twirled fluidly. This was definitely an adequate distraction. Quincy imagined with relish what Falliss's reaction might be when he found out most of his servants were staggering about under the influence of Biara's mysterious "healing" herbs.

At last Quincy spotted the servant he was seeking.

"Mind if I cut in, chap?"

A weasel servant backed away graciously. Quincy grabbed Jolice about the waist with one paw and began to lead with the other.

"Quincy! H-how nice to see you."

The haremaid looked unsettled by his sudden appearance, but more importantly, she looked more the way she had on their journey to the castle together than she had in days. The drugs had already begun their work on her, he suspected.

Quincy smiled coldly. "It's nice to see you too, Jolice. Strangely, I seem to be seeing a lot of you these days, though it's mostly down in the basement."

Jolice tittered, though Quincy felt her paw twitch conspicuously in his. "I've no idea what you're talking about." She leaned in close, whispering in his ear, "Oh, and by the way, we know what you're up to."

"That a fact?" Quincy mused. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"The food," she said. "We know you and your friends messed with it, or at least the ones that showed up late did."

"Right. And if we did mess with the food, as you claim, why is no one going scampering to that crazy old bird about it?"

"And give up the chance to have a party like this?" Jolice laughed. "We've not had so much fun in ages. Come tomorrow we'll probably be thanking whoever did it. That's if they don't stick their nose where it doesn't belong and let Jeremy do his work."

"What?"

"Oops, I've said too much, haven't I?"

"You _are_ a servant then," Quincy sighed. "I was hoping it really was just something you and Rockleap cooked up."

Jolice's face fell. "Quincy..."

"No, don't give me your stupid bloody explanations about how it was for the greater good or whatever, or how in love with Falliss you are." Quincy pulled Jolice close to him. "You just tell me what you're doing in the basement."

"C-cleaning!" she gulped.

Quincy gave her paw a sharp squeeze. "That's a lie!"

Jolice bit her lip, tears springing to her eyes. "Quincy, please, don't do this. I can't..."

_"Tell me!"_ Quincy's heart beat fiercely in his chest. White hot anger swallowed up the noise of the music and chatter, and all he could see before him was the hare that had betrayed him and brought him into this place of death.

"I can't! I can't! Please, Quincy, if he hears about what I'm doing, if he knows I'm trying to find her..." Tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks as she sobbed brokenly. "Don't tell him, please, please..."

Quincy's anger melded quickly into horror at the sight of her, and his throbbing heart had slowed to a dull ache. "Oh...oh dear fates, Joli, I..." How could he have done this? How could he have taken such vindictive pleasure in hurting her? She was so vulnerable and defenseless, and, thanks to Biara, who knew what she had flowing in her bloodstream?

"I'm sor—"

"Ach, is there a problem 'ere, lass?"

The Scotch ferret had returned, peering menacingly at Quincy. The weasel that had been dancing with Jolice earlier stood beside him, also giving the hare a rather nasty look.

"No! I was just leaving," Jolice said quickly.

Quincy stood dumbly by as Jolice pushed him away. Her sad eyes lingered on his for one moment before she turned and hurried out of the ballroom, her emerald skirts billowing in her wake.

The mustelids were still eyeing him suspiciously.

Quincy coughed. "Er, there wouldn't happen to be any of those pasties left, wot? I sure could do with a dozen of those about now..."


	40. A ThoughtTormented Music

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 38. A Thought-Tormented Music****  
**

_by Rhea  
_

_La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la..._

Rhea sighed as she maneuvered past a tall weasel. While she truly did not expect the trappings of a queen, the ball was turning out to be somewhat of a letdown by her standards. Admittedly, those weren't quite the same as the other guests', but it was nevertheless disappointing.

_...la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la._

If it hadn't been for that infernal recorder! The white rat was leaning against a wall, puffing away into his piece of wood as if somebeast enjoyed it. Taking a deep breath, he began another scale. He had used more keys that evening that any creature had a right to unless they were locking a dozen doors up for the night.

"Excuse me," she muttered unnecessarily as she passed a teetering molemaid. The rat did not seem to notice her approach. "Could you please play _a song_?"

The rat continued without pause until he blinked, startled at how his "music" had turned into an intolerable squeal. Rhea's forceful paw clenched the end of the recorder, distorting its sound. She had waited until he was playing the highest notes, with the fewest fingers on the instrument. No use touching the vermin, although he was almost too pitiful to deserve the title.

"What?" he replied curtly.

"A song." Rhea loosened her grip slightly.

The rat's face was expressionless, like all the other servants'. He said nothing.

"A song! The Hedgehog's Favorite Season. Lady Sally's Pendant. The Diving Dolphin."

"Please let go of my recorder."

"Are you going to play a song?"

"I'm not familiar with that."

"What songs _do_ you know?"

No response.

For a moment, Rhea considered simply seizing the instrument. She might well have done it, too, had she considered herself able to play the thing. As it was, it would have nearly been too small for her paws, and she was not really a musician.

"If I leave you alone, will you keep quiet?"

"I have been instructed to play for you."

"Well, I'm instructing you to shut up." Glaring pointedly, she shook her paws free. The rat's grip on the recorder had slacked off, and it fell to the floor. The percussive noise it made as it clattered on the ground was more musical than any sound it had produced that night.

What was she supposed to do other than meet the other guests? She glanced among the ambling servants, looking for Quincy or even Biara. The marten's interest in her health seemed more a formality than anything else, but Rhea had given accurate if brusque answers when the healer tried to make conversation. She was not, however, in sight.

Flynn was lingering against a far wall, Desmond wobbling, supported by a servant. In truth, Rhea did not particularly _want_ to make any more acquaintances than necessary. Raine's death had unsettled the fragile truce among the guests, and Rhea's trust in Kima was even more reluctant than it had been already. The badger was not a murderer, and did not plan on becoming one. Even so, best not to become too close with anyone if she didn't have to.

The unsteady molemaid wandered by once again, oblivious to the would-be dancers shuffling around her. Nobeast seemed genuinely interested in enjoying themselves; their faces wore the masks of schemers.

_Like they're preparing for battle._

And, unbidden, a sort of memory crystallized, pieced together from fragments of the past.

_It was, with some effort, possible to tell where the moody sea ended and the rain-scarred shore began, but Rhea had no interest in analyzing the weather and a very compelling interest to get inside, anywhere. Had she been lost and alone, it would almost have been enough to seek out the southern tents, never mind the creatures making camp there._

Almost.

But she had a destination, and the mountain was as warm as had been promised. Soon, Rhea's fur was dry. "Are you sure we want to go ahead with a ball? It's torrential out there."

"The guests will come," murmured the young badger lord. His unconcerned voice belied the ferocity etched into his face.

"With a horde of weasels a day's march away?"

"The invitations were written long ago. The weasels will leave in their time."

"Is...are you sure this is really the right time for a ball?"

"You are afraid of a band of ragtag scum?" Rhea was about to protest, but he grinned and proceeded. "If I needed to practice warfare, I could not have picked a better way to do so."

"Are you mad?"

"The honorable warrior needs the grace of an artist, and the confidence of one well trained in his steps."

"Who are you quoting?"

Offended, he'd left her alone to attend to the guests from Holt Brightwave. Well, they were otters, of course they'd_ be able to brave the weather._

But then they'd danced, and the melodic rhythm beat the way towards forgiveness.

It was not a wholly pleasant memory, but too many wholly pleasant memories from that time would not have done her much good. By that logic, the memory was almost exactly what she needed.

It also wasn't real.

Oh, most of it had happened. The rainstorm, yes. The weasels, yes. They _had_ been defeated, too—strange how her original recollection omitted that part. The majority of the bits and pieces that comprised the complete memory were true, but they hadn't happened on the same night. And she hadn't made any witty retorts, either. Her subconscious knitted together the various dances to construct something that somehow seemed, if not worse than this deathtrap of a castle, at least not worth missing for very long.

It didn't do her any real good in the ballroom, though, unless she could find someone to dance with. Would any of the servants know anything? Perhaps if she got one of them to build up trust in her...

She glanced around the hall. There were woodlander and vermin alike, equally soporific in the unfamiliar environment, but oddly few badgers. Few, too, of the guests. Where was Biara? Or even...no, Raine wouldn't be there.

Rhea made her way across the dance floor, keeping an eye out for anyone familiar but mostly being bowled over by servants. An ermine, a shrew, a ferret...

A ferret?

If the guards had somehow managed to make it out of their room, maybe she could find some way in. She had not spent much time in the armoury, but it might well have something more effective than her sling.

So she made her way out of the ballroom, proceeding across the expansive hallways to the armoury. A ranged weapon would be most effective with gates involved, and she duly procured a slender longbow. It took longer than she expected to string the first arrow, but her tiring paws eventually maneuvered it into some semblance of intimidation. To her own mind, at least. The way she carried it, more than one creature would have been more terrified of a Dibbun with a pebble and a strong throwing paw.

Nevertheless, she heroically strode towards the gate...and found the same two ferrets glaring at her.

"Hello," she nervously smiled. "Just...just wondering if you were going to the dance."

One of them reached for his javelin.

"I'll take that as a no?" Without waiting for further comment, she backed away. No use doing anything ridiculous on her own.

Still, she truly was becoming curious as to where everyone was. Rhea climbed the staircase by her own bedroom; if she remembered correctly, Biara had one of the two rooms nearest the stairwell on the second floor. The toss of a coin could have decided it, but Rhea had nothing to trust but her flighty intuition.

She guessed wrong.

"Biara?" She knocked on the door with more force than she expected, and it pushed open.

If the carnage on the upper story had been nauseating, this was even worse. A stench littered the room, and dried blood stained the carpet. The dead body of a mole lay in the center. Without approaching too closely, Rhea squinted to notice the trickles of blood that had run down its back and onto the floor. Presumably, it had been killed right there, wherever "there" was. Was this really Biara's room? In any case, she had no reason to stay in it. She stepped back into the hallway, where her nose if not her mind would be able to relax.

Was the marten that deceptive, calling herself a healer when she was just a murderous villain? Rhea couldn't remember who else occupied the second floor. Raine might have, but she wasn't killing anybody. Or was the newt around? She hadn't seen much of him that day.

Quincy and Kima were on the third floor with her. Nallmian tended to stay out of her way, but she thought his room was there also. She wouldn't put this past him, not if the only other guest was...Desmond?

Maybe the servants were killing off each other, but that would require some sort of ambition or at least desire. Neither of those seemed particularly common among the servants, unless it was the desire to unquestioningly serve Falliss, however bizarre that got.

Which left the other guests, and only a few of them at that. She strained to remember...yes, Desmond _was_ staying on this floor, this hallway!

Or had her mind put that together, too?

No. She wouldn't want to suspect a woodlander, even one as ridiculous as him. But this was his room, and somebeast had plenty to answer for. Not to mention whoever was blasting open the walls upstairs. The day had not been a productive one in terms of investigation; there was a ball to prepare for, anyway, if only in theory. She hadn't spent _too_ much time deciding on this gown, a dark violet shade...

Had she?

Regardless, she was not going to find answers by staring at a dead servant. Like it or not, she had to talk to somebody.

So she returned to the main story, leaving the bow in the corner of the armoury. Morramel had been too deluded, surely, to call dance a _literal_ battle.

Rhea didn't think anyone noticed when she slipped back into the ballroom, gliding onto the floor but keeping two wary eyes out for someone to talk to. Quincy waved deliriously, like a puppet with lax strings. Perhaps best to give him some space.

Walk a little in one direction and turn. Walk a little in another direction and turn. Until the moment when she became aware that her steps were in time with a steady beat, coming from outside her.

_...la-la-LA LA-la-la-la..._

Oh, come on now, Rhea inwardly groaned. _Not again?!_


	41. We're looking for a page

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 39. We're looking for ****a page  
**

_by Flynn  
_

_The days seemed to pass rather quickly, almost as if time was being forced to move faster. Was it really so long ago that she had come to the castle full of the bloodlust, and ready to avenge a wrong? Now it seemed radically changed, both in tone and flavor. The main objective, if there ever was one had been pushed to the sidelines. A time for frivolity, of merriment was near. At least, that was the external idea behind the innocuous appearances of the matter. What was left was a deep desire to seek out the truth by any means available, even deceit. _

It was strangely quiet in the mansion tonight. Anyone listening to the sounds of the house would have noticed very few unusual noises. The servants were going about their usual business and there was the occasional patter of the guest's feet to be heard, but otherwise there was nothing. One might have gotten the impression that nothing was happening. Of course, that impression would have been dead wrong. A ball was being planned, in the middle of a killing field. The silence would persist until the attendees had all readied themselves.

Flynn stood in her room observing herself in the looking glass. It was funny, how at the instigation of one person, the servants had amicably agreed to place mirrors in all of the guest rooms. All save two of the rooms, of course. Flynn was not really comfortable with the idea of the ball at all. It was so out of her element to just drop her defenses and just _playact. They were going to make a scene; pretending two beasts had not just died_. The logic seemed pretty clear to Flynn, it was just the problem of execution. Would the Professor be fooled? He had given his consent to a dance, but what orders had he given his subordinates?

Suddenly, Flynn's attention was distracted by something else entirely. For the ball the good Professor had 'kindly' provided the survivors with formal attire tailored for their needs. Flynn had received a flowing purple gown, seemingly as eerily royal as it was formal. The otter had not thought much of it, other than it had fit, but now it seemed to eclipse her thoughts. It was itching, probably as a result of some crevice not being properly adjusted. Flynn looked up at the mirror to assess where the itching might have come from. Flynn quickly adjusted the offending article and suddenly blinked as if taken aback.

She had only just noticed how she appeared in the mirror. It seemed a profound transformation had seemingly taken place once Flynn had put the dress on. She seemed if not attractive, at least a_ Lady_. _It was unnerving to say the least. _She realized how ridiculous it must appear to see the other guests face when she appeared to them. The face in the mirror had not been the face of a warrior, that much was certain. _Even in their best days, she had never appeared before Skip like this._

Flynn laughed at the comicalness of the situation. It sounded strange indeed, a warrior maid, disguised behind formal attire was laughing her head off in front of a mirror. M_aybe the stoat had been right, maybe there was a bit of the craziness in her._ It was madness maybe, but it was her madness. The revelry might have continued, but for the sounds of a crash outside of her room. It sounded like some beast had been a trifle clumsy. Either way, it warranted investigation.

Flynn cautiously walked out of her room onto the hallway. There was no beast to be seen in either direction. There was certainly no furniture broken nor was there any sign that any other things had been damaged. "Hello?" "Is anybody around?" Those cries were met with silence. The only beasts around were the servants, busy setting up the ball. They were thoroughly meticulous-no chance of THEM causing the accident, whatever it had been. After some calling in vain, Flynn decided that it must have come from another floor and retreated back into her room.

Immediately, she could tell something was wrong. Her desk was smashed in two pieces as neatly as you could want them. The chair to the desk had been hurled across the room and had actually imbedded itself into the wall, so deep had the splinters run. The bed canopy was now level with the mattress, as _all of the bedposts had been cut down, apparently with a single sweep. Something big had obviously been here._ Whatever it was, Flynn had missed it by just mere moments. The whole room was trashed beyond repair now; Flynn might even have to seek lodging in another room. If so, it would have to be the mousemaid's recently vacated room, since Flynn sire as hellgates was not sleeping in the basement. As she left the room, she failed to notice that the mirror was the only thing that had not been broken.

********************************************************************

_The ball seemed to be underway now. Everybeast was either dancing or at least faking it. An outside observer probably could see the strained and forced mood that was evident everywhere. The dance was merely a façade to hide a reconnaissance mission but only those so priveliged knew that. At least, those guests who had not been required to complete the ruse were here. There were also some who would not make the ball at all in this lifetime. To their memory, the guests were symbolically dancing. _

Flynn stood awkwardly on the sidelines of the dance floor. She had never had any experience with formal affairs of any kind. She dreaded also that somebeast would ask her to dance, for she did not know how. The others knew better than to ask her, they were distrustful of her, and she them. The servants were not much given to dancing it seemed, as there were few of them on the dance floor. Even then, their waltzes seemed slow, deliberate, and almost archaic. They kept to themselves, selecting only other servants for dance partners.

Mayhap it was just as well she was not out there dancing with the rest of them. The other guests did not seem to be enjoying themselves either. They all realized that they were not doing this for fun; they knew not what warranted such frivolity, especially in this time of tragedy. Flynn looked up at the spot where most of the dancing was taking place. That chandelier was loose, dangerously so. Flynn defiantly would not want to be under that thing when it fell, which could be any time now. Those servants probably would fall victim to it if it fell tonight, but what was the loss of one or two pawns in Faliss's game?

Her reminisces were suddenly interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. Flynn looked around in the direction of the tap and immediately rolled her eyes. It was Desmond, his arm outstretched onto her shoulder. He evidently was having a hard time standing up-almost as if he had been drugged. "What?" Flynn replied, "Could you possibly want?" She moved back a little to get out of range of his grasp. Desmond teetered for a moment, in which he nearly lost his balance and had to lean on some other beasts. All the while, that strange stupid grin remained on his face.

"You don't look like a spider," he said, and giggled, _grabbing her by both shoulders._ "Wan' dance with me?"

Flynn beat off the offending paws, a mixture of fear and revulsion rising in her throat. "Your drunk" She spat in his face, "Go hit on Eloise or whichever Owl-spawn you came here to seduce." He did not come closer, just stood there seemingly confused. _Was he aware that he was drugged? _

"You don't want to dance?" Desmond blinked at her. "You're not very much fun." He giggled suddenly. "Please?" He drew the word out, as if he wasn't sure how to pronounce it. "'S okay if you don't know how. I can teach you. Y'know?"

Flynn understood what Desmond meant perfectly. All men, sooner or later needed to know when they were transgressing lines. It had been no different with Skipper, and she knew how to deal with those happenings. "I can help you there" She said, getting behind him. With her strength combined, Flynn rushed forward and pushed Desmond back, to the floor. At least, on the spot of the floor the table with the punch bowl was covering. The squirrel broke the bowl on impact and sent the table crashing to the ground. Then he lay still, the unconscious form of the squirrel lying on top of the shattered glass.

Flynn turned away again, leaving the crowd to gawk at the sight. Desmond would come to his senses in time, and he would be fully recovered. He might have a hangover and one or two minor injuries, but he would be fine. For now, Flynn was just concerned with how much time remained until the end of the ball. Those Servants could not last forever; those drugs would leave them all prone like Desmond long before midnight.

***********************************************************************

The ball was long over by now. The servants each lay stretched out where they had fallen, not a one stirring. The head servants were also stretched out, with Agatha paradoxically fallen despite her best efforts to stay awake. It was going to be a hard effort, to sort them all out in different groups, but it had to be done. The less important ones had to be separated from those who would make valuable hostages. It would take the whole night to process, and it would be painstaking work.

Flynn grunted as she got the last of the head servants into place. The placing had been thought of by her specifically. If one were to awaken, at least it should be in the center of the ballroom, where it might be easily observed. It was also easier, in that there would be no confusion over which servants to interrogate or hold hostage first. Agatha was the logical choice, but how long would the Professor let them hold their prisoners? Frankly Flynn was surprised that Faliss had agreed to this in the first place. Was there retribution in the works?

Suddenly an unearthly noise broke the silence. Instantly, all the guests in the room, even in the mansion stood up straight. That noise had not been natural had it? It seemed to be coming from outside too. Flynn motioned to Desmond, who by now was awake, but still recovering from the brunt of his fall. "I am going to check this out, stay here." She was dead serious; after all, if Desmond got into a fight, he would be only a liability. The otter then sped out of the room and went to check the hallway.

No sooner had she stepped out of the doorway, did she hear a loud crash. She did not have to turn to know where it came from, for it was right behind her. Flynn had a bad feeling also at _what had crashed._ She held her breath and looked around, but she was not prepared for what she saw. She saw nothing; it was as if the room had suddenly turned black and visibility was nonexistent. Noises could be heard in the blackness, but Flynn could not tell from whence they came.

The chandelier had crashed, down onto the servants, crushing to death those five who had been placed directly under. Directly over by the chandelier, was heard the sound of huge footfalls from some great beast. Flynn couldn't think of anything to do but stand there helplessly, as the footfalls advanced toward the other guests in the blackness, who were as clueless as to what was going on as she was.

"I knew it, I knew it!" Desmond was shouting. "I never-I never did it! You're dead! Dead you hear me?" Nevertheless, the footsteps continued toward the sound of Desmond's voice until it was directly over him, since she heard the sound of him scuttling across the floor to get away. Flynn decided then, that she had to do something. Running forward, she placed herself between the beast and Desmond. Now if it was to kill anybeast it would probably be her. "Beast, whatever you have been told to do, forget it!" She rasped to the darkness ahead of her. "Take him, and leave!" Flynn pointed to where she supposed the servants lay . Maybe it had come to rescue them? It turned out that hypothesis was right.

The sound of some heavy object clunking to the floor could be heard as the beast suddenly turned away from Flynn. The footfalls were audibly heading toward the center of the room. There was scraping noise, like a body being roughly picked up. Then, suddenly, the footfalls ceased. The beast-whatever it was was not making any more noise. One second he was there, the next he might have not even existed.

Suddenly there was a flash, and the light in the room 'returned' to normal.  
Immediatly everybeast observed that the cord of the chandelier was cut, as if by some blade, and dangling to one side. Agatha, the second most important servant, was gone without a trace, possibly taken by the was evident also was that there was no sign of the creature to be seen in the room, or of his having exited by any of the visible means of doing so. Flynn wiped the sweat off her forehead with her paws. Only then did she realize that a huge battle axe lay beside her on the floor. The beast that could have lifted this must have been mighty indeed.

It had been an eventful day, and now the dawn was breaking. Behind her, she could hear the sound of Desmond getting back on his feet. "She's gone, She's gone", Desmond was gasping, in a voice that sounded like a strangled sob. The squirrel must have realized that he was speaking out loud so he changed the conversation at once."So…otter, why did you do that?", Desmond said.

"I don't know myself,….Desmond, Maybe I decided to stop turning my back on things for once."

"After all, we are all in this together," She said. "Live together, die alone."


	42. Teardrop on the Fire

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 40. Teardrop on the Fire  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

Rough fabric covered his eyes, his face. Bound behind his back, his wrists ached while the ropes sapped all feeling from his fingers. He was sitting on what must have been a stool as evidenced by a feeling of being balanced precariously on the brink of falling over.

Claws snapped, prompting a paw to remove the burlap from Saveaux's head. He shut his eyes against the candlelight, the small flames overpowering after gazing at total black. The newt blinked a few times, not keeping his lids open until he was adjusted to the light. In the brief glimpses he was allowed, Saveaux saw a squirrel standing nearby, arms akimbo while he waited until the newt was ready.

"You have already guessed why you are here," said the squirrel. Saveaux recognized the servant as Jeremy from the dinner two night's past. "Your mind is far more brilliant than any of your teammates would assume."

"In-n-n…ffffor-m-a-t-i-o-nnnn?" Each spoken word rattled about his head to stir up more of the dull ache permeating his skull.

"Perhaps I was mistaken. We already know who killed the servant. You are here as a lesson to those who think they can escape the professor's experiment by brutalizing his staff. We also know you had no part in either of the murders."

"Eiiiith-eeer?"

The squirrel nodded. "Captain Nallmian and Miss Biara took another servant while you were in your quarters. He was killed just before I arranged your capture.

Saveaux's head drooped, his hands tightening into fists, releasing quickly when the bonds began to dig further into his wrists.

"More on topic, we also know what you and all of the others have been doing, partially because your every action has been observed, partially because of what we found in your room."

Jeremy snapped his fingers, causing a previously unseen servant to bring forth a stack of paper. Saveaux noted that somebeast other than Jeremy had removed the burlap as well and wondered how many more were hiding just out of sight. He did not dwell on the question, however, for his mind, slowed as it was from whatever they had used to drug him – he was drugged before he was caught, he remembered that now – gradually began to understand what the squirrel held in his paw."

"Your writing is quite illuminating. Admittedly, we knew most of you had recorded, but it is only possible to record so much with so few observes, especially when you all delight so much in running hither and thither about the grounds. Sometimes you even managed to get out of range entirely; hidden passages can only stretch so far. But now we know everything that we must. Were the Professor here, he would thank you gladly for filling in the holes in his research."

The newt raised his head. Saveaux's jaw clenched tight enough to rupture while his eyes bore into those of the squirrel, seeing nothing staring back.

"Ra-th-er…d-ie…thhhhhan-n-n…hel-lllp…Fal-ssss."

Jeremy blinked. "So sorry you feel that way, but you have helped nonetheless. We now know everything that you know, except for one lingering detail."

Until that point, the squirrel had stood three feet away from Saveaux, pacing nary a few steps every once in awhile as if to demonstrate that he could move freely and the newt could not. After he had admitted there was still something he did not know, however, Jeremy approached the newt while another servant, different than the first two, brought forth a chair that the squirrel sat on. Jeremy leaned forward, his face a foot away from Saveaux's.

"Why did you have the dagger?"

The newt said nothing.

A claw snap and it was in Jeremy's paw. He held it up, starring at the weapon momentarily, noting how the candles' light reflected off the surface.

"This dagger was taken from the armory, small arms cabinet, fifth shelf." He recited. "Last evening, Captain Nallmian gave you a javelin thinking it would be best for you all to arm yourselves. You accepted, but were quite reluctant as I remember, which makes it all the more strange that you, of your own volition, would steal away from your room in the night, and, taking the utmost care so as not to be seen, make your way up to the armory to retrieve a dagger. When I read from the records what had transpired, I attempted to decipher your motives, but could devise no satisfactory explanation. Those who had made the records, naturally, had no ideas either; they were not instructed to think, only record. So, now w]that I have the pleasure of your company, I ask you, why did you take the dagger?"

Saveaux gurgled but refused to speak.

Pain arched across the newt's arm as ruby began to drip down the clean cut just between shoulder and elbow. Two more cuts made a clean line from his other upper arm, across his chest and to the original cut. His ears hummed with pressure while he struggled to keep his mouth closed.

"No doubt you have seen the effect torture can have on a beast. Bernard was quite young, but the kind of treatment to which he was subjected would have made even some of his seniors buckle. What I can do to you is much worse than what Biara may have."

Saveaux let his mouth open, syllables seeping through gaps in panting breaths.

"…ara…n-n…no…hu…urt…Ssssa…voh."

"But she would. Saveaux, I pity your ignorance, for you do not know of what she is capable. What you saw in that room was but an inconsequential mark in her already over-abundant record. When the Professor hired Mister Obadiah Tussle to collect information on all of his guests, he did it knowing that the vole would take detailed notes on their history. Miss Biara's list of transgressions extends much further than you would think." Jeremy cocked his head to one side, a wheel thrown off its axis. "I would be more than happy to share, if you will just tell me why you had the dagger."

Saveaux bit back the words again, then stopped. His stiffened features relaxed, the lips becoming fuller, on the brink of a smile. He nodded but remained silent, Prompting Jeremy to lean in closer. The newt opened his mouth, remembering a trick a hero in a situation similar to his had employed. He whispered the words, causing the squirrel to turn his head to one side, bringing his ear within an inch from the newt. Saveaux cleared his throat and spat at the squirrel with as much phlegm and spittle as his throat could muster.

"N-nno…t-tell!"

He felt himself hoisted to his feet by his wrists and his bonds cut. Pain from the disturbed cuts as well as his wrists temporarily robbed him of breath, but not the satisfaction brought by his small victory. Saveaux began to rasp in the back of his throat, the newt's mimicry of a belly laugh, as he watched the squirrel attempting to shake the mess from his ear by dancing up and down on one footpaw with his head turned parallel to the ground.

Saveaux's back hit against the wall and remained so fused, held back by arms more stone columns than limbs of a mortal beast. Flicking the last of the gunk from his ear with a claw, Jeremy approached the suspended amphibian. Glare from the dagger stabbed at Saveaux's eyes.

_This is where the villain retorts, confesses to his captive how displeased he is that he does not cooperate or else how he is impressed with his resilience. Jeremy now brandishes his weapon, as he is apt to do, and next he will no doubt offer me one last chance before inflicting another wound. But I'll not yield._

The squirrel raised his weapon while Saveaux waited for the words to come, anticipating a grand monologue before he offered to spare his life. And Saveaux was ready to die. He would not yield; giving this torturer the satisfaction of submitting was unacceptable. Saveaux would not yield and he was ready to die.

Jeremy did not say a word, nor swing the dagger. Instead, he brought the weapon to rest blade first in the flesh between Saveaux's little finger and palm. A scream escaped Saveaux's throat as blood ran from the cut, chased out by the ever increasing pressure of the dagger. Jeremy continued to push on the weapon while Saveaux continued to rasp a scream despite himself. He heard something small hit the stone floor and realized he could not feel his little finger.

"That was for retaliation." Saveaux barely heard the squirrel's quavering voice above the loud drumbeat that began to pound in his ears. "If you refuse me once more, I will take another finger. Three refusals is a hand. Retaliate once more, it will be your neck. Understand?"

Saveaux gasped, nodded. Jeremy waited a beat before digging the dagger's edge again into the newt's hand, this time at the base of his ring finger.

"Speak!"

"Ye-eEESsssss!"

The squirrel relented, snapping his claws. Saveaux plunged to land tail first on the hard stone floor, the pain in his bottom ignored amongst that pulsing from his left hand.

Jeremy stood over him, backlit by the candles in such a way that the newt could only see the face towering over him and the dagger hanging precariously in his hand like a loose guillotine blade.

"Why did you take this dagger?"

Saveaux swallowed, immediately regretting the action as it stirred up a new pain in his throat to join the ones in his bottom, across his chest and upper arms and through the entirety of his left hand.

"Da…a-agrrrr…N-n…al-miiiinnn."

Jeremy turned to a servant. "Bring water."

The quiet commotion that only occurs in the most efficient environments echoed throughout the room as one of the faceless servants, this one different still from the first two, brought a glass and pitcher and handed it to Jeremy. Saveaux reached for the glass, his good hand greeted by the flat of the dagger.

"Elaborate first."

He set down the pitcher and glass out of reach from the newt and handed Saveaux a paper pad and charcoal. Gingerly, as if it would have bitten him, the newt picked up the stick and began to write in long, shuddering bounds.

_After they had tortured the hapless servant, Captain Nallmian issued a threat; that I might reveal their murder, he would have Biara torture and presumably kill me. Afterwards, they escorted me back to the dining hall. Not a word traveled from out my mouth the entire time; I was busy thinking…_

Saveaux waited until Biara had left to move from the basin to his bed. For extra security, he continued to wait, lying motionless, until the marteness returned to make sure he was asleep. The door closed. Saveaux counted ten steps and five seconds; he rose, moving to the door quickly.

The entire span of time between when Nallmian issued the threat, all throughout taking notes on the other team's activities until Biara escorted him back to his room, Saveaux thought. His ponderings had revealed three truths. The first; Biara was sick.

It was not her fault, Saveaux reasoned, for she was a medic and praticioners of medicine are bound to become ill from their work. Perhaps she had contracted a disease long ago that impaired the senses or blocked the capacity for empathy to a degree, perhaps she treated one such as her current self and, either due to overexposure to the behavior or through contracting whatever malady her brutal patient had, had come away with bloodlust. It could even be that a demon she had thwarted now possessed her; stranger things had happened in books. Whatever the cause, Biara was infected. Whatever was inside of her had the ability to erode her sense of mercy and bring instead torrents of irresistible rage. She was dangerous, but absolved from blame. Saveaux should help her.

The stoat was a different matter.

The second conclusion the newt had reached; Nallmian had to die. From the beginning, the captain had only served as a catalyst for bad blood amongst the guests. It was obvious that he would have been more than willing to dispatch with the other nine guests one by one; Nallmian's first destination after dinner had been the armory. The only reason he had gone along with the idea to split into teams, Saveaux was sure, was that safety lie in numbers. Nallmian had two extra beasts to use and two hapless targets with which to easily dispatch once the castle's population became more limited. It had been Nallmian's idea to capture and torture a servant in the first place; therefore, it was his fault the monster in Biara surfaced.

The third truth was the most difficult with which to come to terms. Saveaux himself must kill Nallmian.

He hated playing into Faliss's plot. At the dinner, Saveaux would have died before giving in to the owl's instructions to kill the other guests. But that was before the torture and the threat and three truths. Nobeast else recognized the threat the stoat posed, and if they did, they certainly were not going to act upon that knowledge. Moreover, it was _Saveaux_ who was threatened.

_When a hero is threatened, or otherwise has his honor sullied, it is he who must take up the sword against his enemy, for none other can avenge the wrongs done to him._

He could not use the javelin; it was too cumbersome. A smaller weapon, like a dagger, would be more fitting. This way, Saveaux would be able to steal in close to be sure it was done. There would not be much trouble getting near enough as the stoat would never suspect the newt.

Saveaux stopped halfway down the hall, the newly procured dagger heavy in his hands. His reasoning was sound, he was sure. Yet, he trembled.

The dagger lay just a foot from the basin. Saveaux returned to his room to soak himself, collect his thoughts. When the door burst open, he feared that perhaps the stoat had discovered his plot. Saveaux sprung to his feet, sending water scattering about the room, slicking the floor to make footing harder for those not accustomed to the water. He gripped the dagger and swung.

_Wheeling limbs, both mine and mine enemy's; the dagger swings out and is caught by a hand, an arm. I remember blurs here, a red-brown amongst the neutral tones of the room. More is blocked from my mind by whatever drugs were placed in the basin; I can recount no more._

The charcoal fell, shattering as it collided with the floor. Jeremy passed the cup, its contents swallowed in seconds. Saveaux could feel the revitalizing liquid flow down his throat, clearing away the pain along with just enough of the drum beat to allow the newt to hear Jeremy snap his claws once more. The newt was pulled to his feet, felt rope coil about his wrists. Suspended by two servants, he faced Jeremy at eye-level.

"Thank you. The information which you have provided will be most useful. Faliss will be fascinated to learn what effects this experiment has had on you. Now you are expendable."

Saveaux felt another rope slide around his neck.

"When your friends captured the first servant, I decided to take you captive. I had planned to reciprocate their actions by torturing you, but, in the end, I would release you as an example to the others. Though penalized, you would have been allowed to fulfill your role in the experiment until you expired via the actions of the other guests. But when Miss Biara and Captain Nallmian killed another servant, I reasoned that a live example would not be a strong enough message. Two servants die; one guest dies. Hardly even, but we are only allowed to influence this experiment so much."

The servants let go. Saveaux now stood, but this time atop the unsteady stool, a short rope tied to the ceiling pushing just enough against his throat to make breathing a more laborious process. He fought for his courage, but pain had stolen it away. It was now only he, the abyss and whatever lie beyond it; Saveaux had his theories as to what that was, all of which relied upon what he had read. Lately, though, books seemed to be lying to him more and more. Saveaux fought a sob only to find the rope muffled most of it as it tried to exit his throat.

"My condolences; please excuse us for the inconvenience. Rest assured, this will be as quick as possible."

Jeremy's paw raised, thumb and foreclaw pressed against one another.

The wall crashed open and light burst through, causing Saveaux to squeeze shut his lids for protection. The newt cautiously blinked his eyes open to behold two silhouettes against the light. The taller one threw a dagger, the wet impact noise and gurgle afterward telling Saveaux that one of the servants was down. Three others rushed the pair. The silhouettes pivoted out of the way, the shorter one swiping with a small blade while the taller one opted for unarmed combat, felling his opponent in moments with a swift uppercut and kick.

"Biara, the other two." Saveaux heard Nallmian's voice command.

Biara started to attack her two enemies one at a time, stepping out of Saveaux's view, while the stoat came nearer, swinging for Jeremy's head with a knife. The squirrel leapt out of the way, dealing a counter-blow with his knee to the stoat's pelvis. Keeled over, Nallmian attempted to stab the squirrel in the back. Jeremy had already spun out of the way by the time the knife was ready and kicked Nallmian in the side, sending him tumbling into the stool. Saveaux fell over the edge and into the abyss, the pounding in his ears returning as air, hearing and soon sight left him.

There was more gurgling to Saveaux's right. He strained his throat but could find no air. Something heavy hit the floor; next there was the sound of running. The rope tightened its serpent-like embrace about his neck. There were sounds of a scuffle; somebeast was knocked against a wall. The rope seemed to soften, embracing his neck as a lover. Saveaux heard something rupture, though he can not discern if it was internal or external. The sound of glass shattering; a beast cried out; a grunt and then heat, the growl of fire.

"Got you." Saveaux heard somebeast say. He immediately pictured his Old Friend, the light reflected off of his glasses dancing about his head like a halo, the edges of his spines grayed with age.

_Sav…ohhhhhh…my little Sav…ohhh_, he remembered.

Sleep.

Saveaux opened his eyes. Something smelled of smoke and blood. A face peered down at him and, for a moment, the newt wondered if it would have been better to have died.

Nallmian smiled. "You caused quite the ruckus; you owe us one."


	43. Everybody got their dues

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 41. Everybody got their dues  
**

_by Flynn  
_

_"I have said I was not going to give in did I not?" For some beasts, there is a simplified version of events, for others, it can get much more complicated. "If you think you can get away with talking to me like that, you are sadly mistaken! See these, these are not just for show. I've slain beasts with them before, and I am not averse to doing so again! There is a time for pleading, and that has past, so I am afraid I have to do this." She remembered how it had played out, that night would never leave her mind._

The dusty grassland had seemed so inviting, almost begging to be trod over by beasts aplenty. Darkness was already a factor so there was no doubt of any witnesses as to what she was going to do. Her mind had been made up, and there was no going back. Otters have a funny sense of arrogance that they are always feeling entitled to avenge themselves against whosoever they deemed to have wronged them. They will proceed to hunt that beast down, and put him in his place. It was a moonless night; the sky was completely covered by clouds. Who would now watch the scene unfold except the unflinching shadows in the night?

"Hello kitty." Flynn did not need to turn around to know that Kima was standing right behind her. "You understand that this is the basement right?" A slight pause, while Kima shuffled her feet in the background. All this time, and still no beast yet trusted her! "You do know," Kima started, "Nobody asked you to search for the remaining servants, right? I mean, there's nothing down here but dead beasts." A reasonable enough excuse to be sure, one that could pass muster with most beasts. It was all in the intention, never in the cause.

"You need not be so nervous around me cat," Flynn said, "I gave up the vermin hunting train a long time ago. What's important now is that we find Faliss and bring him down together." She heard more shuffling behind her, as if the cat was trying to seek a way around her. Well, that too was understandable given that Flynn was standing smack dab in the middle of the hallway, right in front of Sootpaw's old room. It was probably useless trying to gain her trust now, as Flynn had _De Facto _alienated everyone the minute she had stepped inside of the castle.

"You know, there's something curious going on, very curious." Flynn observed almost at random. Kima's voice could be heard again, cautious this time, but still inclined to hear what Flynn had to say. "Remember we drugged most of the staff?" Flynn asked, "Well, It dawned on me that there might still be some leftovers here in the kitchen working the night shift. I thought mayhap I might check upon them to see if the whole basement employ had gone empty. Well, the fact is there is no sign of any servant, anywhere on this floor. It's like they all packed up and left. That is unusual, because it gives no direct cause for that noise to be coming from."

_"Why, why is he doing this to me?" The victim had sobbed on the floor. "If he really felt anything, if he knew what he was doing, he would say something!" It was harsh, indeed, as it always is when neglect is so transparent and obvious. This was not merely neglect, but a new level of abuse, guaranteed to break the spirit. Though, if you attempt to break the spirit, you run the risk of a backlash, of retribution someday coming for you. "One day, one day there will be justice meted out, but the time has to be right."_

Then one day, the aggressor was gone, on a journey of some personal business. The longtime sufferer had watched him leave, without any feelings of regret. The only regret she felt was that she had to pretend to be impacted by his departure. It would surely never do to express such emotion in front of beasts acquainted with him, for they were all in the palm of his hand. But maybe, as he walked out of the line of sight, it was possible to get out of this relationship, to escape. That night, that is what she had resolved to do.

"The sound is difficult to nail down exactly," Flynn said as she walked up the hallway in between the kitchen and the storage areas. "From the sound of it, the noise could be coming from the cellar or the storage area." Flynn turned around to face Kima. "Now tell me," The otter asked, "which is more likely for whoever made these noises to be hiding?"  
The cat pondered for a minute on this question before finding the answer. "Well," Kima replied, "After reflecting on the floor plans for the basement, the answer seems to be easy. The main storage room is certainly big enough to hide many things."

Flynn nodded her head in agreement. "Exactly, my point, but it happens there are some…inconsistencies with this logic." Flynn continued with this logic, to show Kima where it might be leading. "That's the conclusion I came to also, that there was something fishy about the storage room. As it happens, the room is noticeably smaller than it initially appears. For instance, the supposed 'wall' of the castle is not actually far enough adjoin to the actual castle walls." Flynn looked with amusement at the look of surprise on the cat's face. "This would insinuate of course, that there might be something akin to a hidden room in that space."

"Wow", Kima said, "Do, the others know, about this, that you've possibly found something, but you're not sure what it is?" Instead of answering, Flynn turned around and walked on, continuing down the passage. By the sound of it, Kima was still tailing her; evidently unsure of what she was up to. Flynn stopped at the entrance to the Water Chamber and turned to face Kima again. "You know," the otter began, "I did not widely broadcast it, but those moles that were killed in the past few days…I recognized them. When I was called to the castle, they were there to deliver the message. I can not believe I did not know they were servants until recently. Everyone was sent here on some pretext or other, mine was just more exploitable than some and he knew that."

The cat could not clearly find anything to say other than, "I'm not sure that is entirely true…" Flynn smiled upon hearing that and reached into her pockets. She took something out and held it up in the air. "Kima, there is just something, I want you to have." It was a gold coin, evidently much battered but still recognizable. "I found it, where you dropped it, no not here."- She added as much to shock the cat as herself. "I picked it up after you dropped it in the woods. It was on the ground next to me when I woke up in the morning of that day. I say this to you because you and I share one thing in common. I know what happened with Skipper."

_Days hiding in the forest had taken their toll, as this night clearly showed. The watcher in the forest was forced to lie in shadows, lest he would find her, and drag her back to that place. All was quiet, but not for very long. As the night wore on, shadows rushed across the plains, the sounds of many beasts running could be heard. Then it seemed to pass into the distance except for two beasts. A hunt was being conducted, with the pursuer now chasing after the rest of the prey. With desperate speed, the hunted outran the hunter, and managed to elude detection. The hunter was thrown of the scent and fooled into thinking his quarry had left. Then with sudden violence, the hunter was down, struck down by his quarry. Seeing that immediate danger was over, the newly victorious beast fled the scene._

Time passed, and no beast stirred except for one. The watcher was now aware that she was alone, that she would no longer be disturbed. She crept out towards the body, and turned it over as to identify him. In that single instant, the moon showed its face above the clouds, and the face of her fears was revealed. He was clearly unconscious, and would likely be so for the entirety of the next day. But life is clearly too precious to waste on some beasts. The victim finally had a chance, that night, to tell him everything she had kept quiet about all these seasons. He did not respond of course, but slept on.

In a fit of rage, she picked up the javelin which he had been carrying. There were other javelins in his employ too, and these were likewise scattered across the ground too. With blind fury, she struck at the sleeper with the weapon. As the pointed tip entered his skin, he awoke from the pain to give a cry of anguish. That cry was cut short when he had one last glimpse of his attackers face. Further reaction was silenced forever when the javelin went through his heart. He slumped back down, never to rise again. The avenger then proceeded to utilize the other javelins, and force them into the already dead body. When she had finished with this cruel task, she knelt down behind the slain otter and slept. Unbeknownst to her, rain began pouring on both oblivious forms that were lying in the grass.

"I didn't, I didn't kill him!" Pleaded Kima, evidently now panicking as she thought some form of revenge was going to be inflicted upon her. "You have to understand, I didn't murder anybody!" Flynn backed away from Kima, walking into the Water Chamber room. "I know you played no part in his death, though murder it certainly was." Flynn said. "The murderer was someone else, someone close to him. I know how to deal with murderers, or at least I thought I did." As she said this, Flynn turned away from Kima, and faced the interior of the room.

The Water Chamber was a medium sized chamber, though still very adequate for the means. In the center of the room lay a small pond, where the water for the castle was evidently drawn daily. The pond was an untold number of fathoms deep; it had probably even been here before the castle was built. That was evident to Flynn, because she was now at the very edge of the pool. "Now," Flynn said, "You will see how I deal with murderers." Kima must have realized what Flynn was about to do, as she yelled "Wait, Don't!"

No amount of pleading could have dissuaded Flynn otherwise once she had made up her mind though. With one last gasp, Flynn jumped head first into the pool. Then, she began using her natural swimming ability to reach toward the bottom as well as she could. As she began getting deeper and deeper into the depths, Flynn sought a place where she could rest without floating back to the surface. She eventually found an underwater cave and swam there. As her air began to run out, Flynn dove deeper into the cave so she would not float out with the current.

Her last coherent thoughts came to her in a flash as she suddenly ran out of air. It was now too late to back out, as she now had no strength to go back to the surface, or get herself out of this cave. Mercifully for Flynn, she was already starting to black out. In the instants before unconsciousness, she managed to mouth one word before the black sleep overtook her forever. Unfortunately water does not convey sound so the final confession was only heard in her mind.

If it had been heard however, it would have been this:

"Skipper, I'm sorry I killed you."

On the surface of the pool, all was silent. There was no sound to be heard at all.

It seemed that all time had indeed stopped, if at least for one instant.

end of round three.


	44. If there IS a bear

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of round four.

**Chapter 42. If there IS a bear...  
**

_by Nallmian  
_

The door to Saveaux's room burst open as Nallmian and Biara hurried inside, carrying Saveaux into the room with them. Inside, the newt's water basin had apparently been refilled, since when they had discovered his absence the basin had been empty, its contents spilled all over the floor. Now the basin was upright and full again, with no sign of a spill. Apparently Jeremy hadn't thought to notify the housekeeping servants that their services would no longer be required in Saveaux's room. As Nallmian locked the door, Biara moved the still unconscious, badly injured newt to the basin, and lowered him in. She then took her healer bag and opened it, beginning to sort through for the materials she would need to bandage up the group's injuries.

Nallmian felt positively giddy with success. Sure, some of this was the mixture of traces of adrenaline and the large amount of the brown powder he had taken right before they had gone in, but the rest was the sheer exhilaration of having planned this rescue, pulled it off, gotten their teammate back, set that squirrel alight, and all in all having delivered a great big "Sod off!" to the Professor or Jeremy the squirrel or whoever had taken it upon themselves to decide that his teammate was going to die.

Teammate. It felt odd to be using that word, even if only mentally, to describe two creatures that he had only met a few days earlier, and who he would never have met if not for the deceitful trick that Falliss had played on all of them. But the fact of the matter was, they had become a team of sorts. Biara had proven far more interesting company than he could have hoped for, and the stoat was really starting to like the crafty marteness. And Saveaux…hmm. Well, something about the newt had certainly grown on Biara, who seemed fairly protective of him. By now, though, even Nallmian was starting to feel a bit protective towards the amphibian, at least to the point where the thought of him being brutally killed by Jeremy had been much more distressing than Nallmian would have anticipated.

Biara had removed Saveaux from the basin. "I wanted to put him in for just a bit, since he's been deprived of water for longer than he's used to, but now I think I'm going to get started on what the servants did to him." The marteness shook her head. "I have to say, I didn't think they had it in them. Apparently it isn't just being on the receiving end that can make them come to life like regular creatures. Lots of blunt trauma, some knife wounds, mostly of a slicing or cutting nature, amputation of a finger, and attempted strangulation. I'm going to try to patch him up as much as I can. I think he'll live, at least, but he's had a rough day, to put it mildly."

Nallmian felt a bubble of uncharacteristic anger building in him. Was it hypocritical of him? Yes it was. But that didn't matter. The stoat had never concerned himself much with universal values or philosophy. If he did it to the other side, it was acceptable. If the other side did it to him or those under his command, it was not acceptable. The world was that simple. And this particular situation was reminding him all too much of seven years ago, when he was still a common hordebeast assigned to a unit of skirmishers and trackers trying to take the fight to the Freedom's Lances….

_The stoat's bruised, battered form made a small splash in the mud as the two hedgehogs tossed him unceremoniously into the shallow depression in the earth where the rest of the prisoners were being held. For a moment the mustelid just lay there, trying to force himself to move. The raindrops continued to fall into the uncovered pit, sending up tiny spatters of mud and pelting the injured mustelid. Injured as he was, he could feel the cold, grimy droplets as they fell on open wounds or patches of bare skin that had been shaved and then scorched raw._

"Hey,Nallmian, Vix Nallmian, is that you?" a similarly battered weasel called out furtively from where he and two others had used sticks and cloaks to form a crude lean-to.

At the sound of a familiar voice the stoat managed to force his eyes open and raise his head up. "Thak? Thak! I thought they were goin' to kill you for sure, what with how that one otter was looking at you when you managed to knife his partner."

"No,they decided not to, although they didn't let me in on that for a while. They really went crazy on me, Nallmian, although it looks like you got it as bad as I did. Did they…did they use the fishhooks on you, too?" Thak asked, starting to hobble over to where Nallmian was still struggling to get up. Grateful for the assistance, Nallmian redoubled his efforts to move, and between the two of them the stoat was able to make his way to the cloak.

"Yes. Fishhooks, hot iron shavings,glass…" the stoat's whole body shuddered in pain both current and recalled. "'Gates, I didn't know we could hurt this badly" the mustelid gasped out, tears welling up briefly.

"What 'appened?" another vermin, a rat, had made his way over to the stoat. The rat did not wear a Red Ember uniform, and was dirtier and more unkempt, with a more rustic accent. Probably just a bandit or ruffian of some kind. "They didn't do nothin' like that to us, they just hit us and made like they was drowning us. Kept askin' questions, didn't realize we weren't with youse lot."

Nallmian winced. "Stupid…they were doing that to me…and he was there…the mouse. He was part of it, you know,was helping them do it, but then, all of a sudden…he wasn't there anymore."

"He left?" Thak asked.

"No, his body was there, but his mind wasn;t. He just started staring ahead…and he started talking to somebody who wasn't there," the stoat winced has he moved slightly and accidentally reopened a wound that began to ooze blood again. " Saying  
'Yes, I know your will. It will all be as you say,'and then he started a whole conversation, chattering away like there was nobody in the room but him and whoever he was speaking to, only there wasn't anybody there. He was just staring into space babbling to his imaginary friend…and the other Lances just stood there, like this was the most ordinary thing in the world."

"So what 'appened?" The nonhorde rat asked.

"I laughed. 'Gates knows why, but I laughed. It was…I don't know why. But just so stupid, so ridiculous. Here we're all terrified of this mouse, we're always seeing him go around slicing us up, always hearing about how he's the deadliest thing in Lord Whitefire's realm…and he's mad, completely out of his acorn. He's got some warrior in his head that nobody else can see or here, and everybody here just believes him!" Nallmian's battered, aching body screamed in protest, but it didn't matter. He couldn't help but start laughing a little bit again, even as his eyes began to tear up from pain. "And it's like they really believe in him and his funny voices. He's like what happens when you try to tell a joke and nobody gets it and they all think it's supposed to be serious but it's not…he's a total lunatic but nobody wants to admit that because if he's crazy, then what does that make them? So I laughed. They didn't like that. They really didn't like that."

Thak just shook his head. "I think you've gone a little crazy too, vix."

"Vix?" the rat asked. "Wotcher callin' 'im that for."

Another hordebeast, this one a rat himself, piped up. "He was the one for our group who had the herbs and bandages and patched anyone up after a fight who was injured. Every patrol has one, bigger groups have more. They try to make sure that the injured can survive long enough to get out alive and make it to the castle infirmary. We always just call them 'vix', as in "vixen", even when they're male and not foxes, which is most of them."

"In this case, though, the vix has lost his tail," Nallmian said. "They took my bag, of course. We're just got to try to patch ourselves up as best we can,." the stoat shook his head. "It's funny, Thak, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. We're in this muddy pit because there's a mouse in there who hears imaginary voices and sees what isn't there. That's all he is, a mouse with voices in his head and a really good sword. That's all he is, that's all he is…"

Nallmian was jolted out of his memory by Biara's voice. "Well, I've pretty much gotten him patched up for now. He's going to be in pain for a while, but he'll live. If I remember correctly, he may even get that finger back. I think I read somewhere that newts can regrow tails, and if they regrow tails, they can probably regrow fingers," Biara said. "Now let's have a look at you. That squirrel looked like he was hitting you pretty hard."

Nallmian sat down and opened his tunic, which itself bore marks of the fighting in the form of bloodstains and tears in the fabric. "He was. You wouldn't think a squirrel his size could punch that hard, but it was like getting whacked with a hammer or something."

Biara came over with her bandages and herbs and began treating Nallmian's injuries, which were mostly the result of blunt trauma. The stoat laughed nervously. "I just hope you're in a good mood. I've seen what you can do with the stuff in that bag when you're not." The stoat beamed, eyes wide and innocent, doing his best impression of a musteline angel. "Did I mention you're my favorite guest? And you have really nice fur and lovely eyes, and…ouch!"

Biara smirked at the stoat. "That's for making me waste perfectly good liquor. That was really good stuff, and you made me splash it all over that ruffian of a squirrel so you could grab the walltorch and set him on fire. It worked, but that was damson wine, very strong but very tasty."

"Well, we can always go down to the drinks cellar and find you another one. Falliss must be swimming in gold if he can afford to let us have all the weapons, food and beverages that we want. Although hopefully thanks to us he'll have to hire some more help," Nallmian smirked. "At the rate we're going, next time he hawks up one of those disgusting furry pellets HE is going to be the one to clean it up."

"We are going to have to be more careful. We're leaving quite a bit of a body trail," Biara said.

"I didn't hear you complaining."

"I'm not. I'm just saying we need to watch out for the woodlanders. They might not like it that most of our…encounters have involved woodlanders. In fact, all of them, except some of the ones who were with the squirrel," Biara said.

"Hmm…" Nallmian looked thoughtful. "You know, if they do say anything, we should probably have something thought up in advance. I guess we can always just say that Falliss had them killed himself to spread discord and and sow distrust and so forth. The hare will probably believe it, if for no other reason than that if he doesn't it rather sinks his theory about how we can all just get along. Lots of beasts will go along with something they're not sure of rather than admit they're totally wrong."

Biara nodded. "Sounds reasonable enough. And even if he doesn't, they don't have any proof. Desmond has his deal with us, and I doubt Saveaux will double cross us after we just risked life and limb getting him back from the servants."

At this point Biara finished treating Nallmian's injuries, and the stoat closed his tunic back up, reminding himself to go get a fresh one before they met up again with the others. "We probably ought to just stay here until morning. We need to be on the alert for a counterattack of some kind, and we'll have a better chance if we stick together," the stoat said.

"Yes, that makes sense. Although we can't hide from them forever."

"Absolutely not. We need to take the fight to Jeremy," Nallmian responded.

"Remember what the squirrel told us about how he and Agatha don't like each other and are rivals for status? Well, maybe we ought to look into pushing the two of them into active conflict. Dividing the enemy is always a good tactic. The fact that Saveaux's water basin was refilled, there were no servants patrolling the hallways guarding for us, and most of the others just went to the party rather than harassing us or helping Jeremy suggests that he kept this operation to himself and a few others. What if we tell Agatha what happened, and use it to make the case that he's handling the situation very badly, that he's distracted, and now would be her best chance to put that fluffytailed prat in his place."

"Hmm…" Biara looked thoughtful. "That's an interesting idea. Actually, the fact that we used fire to drive off the squirrel, even if it did cost me my drink, might be useful here. I've seen and treated burn victims before, and it's usually not a pretty picture. That sort of gruesomely disfiguring injury might be a real problem for Jeremy when it comes to maintaining his prestige and leadership. Nobody will be able to look at him without remember his blunder. Also, in a place as obsessed with decorum and etiquette as this one, they're not going to want a head servant who makes everyone cringe when they see him.

"You have a point. How serious are the injuries likely to be? I couldn't tell when he ran out," the stoat asked.

"Well, no way to predict for certain without seeing them, but I would imagine his injuries are pretty bad. At the very least, Desmond will have one less competitor for the affection of female squirrel servants," Biara responded.

"Wonderful. Splendid. That's just great," Nallmian deadpanned. "Between that and you giving him the herbs, I can just see it now." The stoat adopted a rather high, feminine, falsetto voice. "Deeesssmooooondd! I'm having your kit!" He switched to a decent imitation of Desmond. "Well, go have it somewhere else you melletrix!" Back to falsetto. "But Desmond, don't you care about me? W-w-was it me? D-do you not love me anymore? "Back to Desmond. "Sweetie, it's not me, it's you. A squirrel's got to have some standards, after all. Now pish posh, and go bring me a scone and some tea, you plebian tart."

Biara snorted. "I assure you that was not my intention."

"Well, it just might be the result. But off that rather unpleasant subject. One Desmond is more than enough without a bunch of little Desmonds running about looking down their noses at everybody and practicing the family sneer!" Nallmian shuddered at the thought. "I'll go ahead and take first watch tonight. We're probably safe, but be ready in case they do try to counterattack."

"Okay. I'm going to try to catch some sleep." The marteness stretched and yawned. "Rescuing the newt took a lot out of me."

"Sure. I'll wake you up about halfway through the night."

"Great. Good night!" The marteness said, going over to the regular bed in the room and plopping down, tail curling as she stretched out on one of the two beds in the castle that had never been slept in yet. Although granted, Nallmian thought, Desmond might currently be in his room.

Biara seemed to fall asleep rather quickly. This was a common trait amongst those who lived active lives and had to catch sleep whenever they could. Nallmian found himself wondering about his companion's past. She had held her own very well that day during the rescue, fighting two servants at once and killing them while he was trying to fight Jeremy. The stoat almost wondered if perhaps she hadn't spent some time in a warlord's army herself, or in a band of mercenaries, or some other, similar setting. But the stoat decided against prying. If she wanted to tell him about her past, she would. He had gotten so caught up in interrogating that mole that he hadn't really been thinking much about her hearing his story of the bird wing game the Freedom's Lances guards had played. Still, he supposed that he didn't mind too much that she knew. At least she, at the very least, was not completely uninitiated in such matters.

The hours passed relatively quickly, and relatively uneventfully. Every so often there was the sound of somebody out in the corridor, but the movements were fairly loud and overt, and often sounded rather clumsy, as though whoever was moving might be drunk. Or feeling the effects of the herbs Biara had put in the food. In any case, those were not the sounds of somebody planning a stealthy attack, and no threat from the servants had materialized by the time Nallmian woke up Biara for her half of the watch.

Nallmian lay down, able to smell the pine marten's now familiar scent as he did so. It felt good to be able to lie down and rest after several very fully, very stressful days in a row. He considered momentarily using some of the powder, but shrugged off the notion. He had used too much of it today, and anyway, what harm would there be in just laying down, closing his eyes and resting for just a---

The stoat was jolted as he suddenly found himself in that vividly colored hallway of multitudinous different nightmares were his sleep often took him, running down the passages, deterministically pre-fated to open one of those malignly uniform doors and meet some horrible fate. In one room, what looked like a metal serpent covered in jagged blades leapt up at him, forcing itself into his mouth and down his throat until it reached his stomach and literally ripped out through his chest, splattering blood and stomach contents across the walls of the imaginary room.

In another room, sharp wires fell from the ceiling and jabbed themselves under his skin, threading under fur and flesh and muscle, then fixing to his bones until by some unseen force he was made a grotesque living marionette, each twitch of the strings horribly painful, the movements growing more and more forceful until they ripped themselves back out from under his flesh, inflicting deadly wounds in the process.

In yet another, spiders fell onto him from above and crawled up his legs and tail from below, biting him, the bites burning, the burning spreading inward as they pumped him full of an awful poison. The stoat could feel their venom starting to melt his muscles and internal organs, burning them to fiery slurry. He tried to crush the spiders, but when he did their ichor was icy on his fur, so icy it was like daggers to the touch. And then he felt them pulling out what little was left of the mess they had made of his internal organs, and opened his mouth in a silent scream from melting lungs.

And then he was back in the hallway, always looking for a way out, always knowing what awaited him behind the doors, yet never able to avoid them. In the middle of some other horrible torment, however, he suddenly felt himself being shaken in a very different way, and heard someone calling him from just beyond the other side of the door…

"Hey, Nallmian, wake up!" Biara said, jostling the stoat. Nallmian sat bolt upright so quickly he almost collided with the pine marten, who had been leaning over him to shake him awake.

Ears flat, the stoat felt the blood rushing to his face and ears in embarrassment. Dammit! He had fallen asleep. He had meant to wait out the night and then the next day find a way to sleep in a place that was safe, and most importantly, solitary. This meant that Biara had seen his body reacting to the horrible nightmares. What had she seen? Had he screamed? Had he cried? His claws weren't wet so apparently he hadn't bloodied himself, at least. But his tunic was even more disheveled than it had been the night before, and apparently he had succeeded in pushing some of the covers off the bed.

"Err, sorry, I umm, I fell asleep, and ah, was asleep," the stoat managed to stammer out, aware that at that particular moment he sounded dumber than that fox had been. Biara, however, was surprisingly unperturbed.

"Yes, I'll say you were. You dropped off almost immediately and shaking you didn't seem to wake you up. You were really thrashing around in your sleep. I thought you were having a fit or something, but I guess it was just a dream," Biara said. Her tone, however, was not judgmental or scornful, and Nallmian felt a flicker of hope.

"Sorry about that. I tend to toss and turn a lot. And I guess that rescue really took the wind out of my sails," the stoat said, feeling and sounding more coherent. He glanced at Saveaux and saw the newt was still out cold. "Wow, has he been asleep this entire time."

"Yes. He's barely stirred. I did check on him every so often, though, and he's still okay. I think we should think about waking him up now," Biara said. She still didn't seem either fazed or judgmental about Nallmian's uneasy rest, and the stoat was starting to feel hopeful that the whole thing would be written off in her mind and not become a reflection on him.

"I guess you're right. Hold on a sec, I'm going to go get tidied up, and maybe check on the squirrel in the process." Nallmian made his exit from the room, and quickly swung by his own room. He was pleasantly surprised to find it devoid of snobby patrician squirrels, and quickly changed into a clean tunic and neatened his fur. When he came back out, he looked like a proper captain again. Heading back to Saveaux's room, he noticed a distinct lack of traffic in the hallway. Apparently the ball had been a rather late affair, and the residents and staff were being slow to get the next day started.

When Nallmian got back to Saveaux's room, he and Biara took the newt out of his basin, and gently shook him, trying to rouse him out of his deep sleep. Finally, the newt's eyes opened, and he began to wake up.

Nallmian smiled as the newt woke up, providing absolute confirmation that the time and effort had not been a waste, and he and Biara had successfully rescued their  
teammate. "You caused quite the ruckus," the stoat said. "You owe us one."

The newt's eyes widened and he sat bolt upright. "N..n..n…aaaaaa..ll…"

Immediately, Biara shushed him. "Saveaux, don't try to talk. Your throat was badly damaged when they tried to hang you. But don't worry, you're safe now. We came and rescued you from the servants. Desmond and the others were having a ball, so most of the servants were distracted. Nallmian and I burst in, killed Jeremy's helpers…and then dumped some strong damson wine on the nasty squirrel brute's head and set him on fire. We think he survived, but that taught him a lesson, certainly."

At the sight of Biara, Saveaux calmed down just slightly, no longer looking as abjectly frightened, but he still seemed rather tense around Nallmian. Nallmian didn't blame him at all. He knew all too well what the poor newt was probably going through. Nallmian hadn't expected to feel strong relief that the newt was safe, but nevertheless, he did.

The newt stared at the stoat, still looking anxious and upset, but also rather surprised. Nallmian chuckled slightly. "Don't look so surprised, mate, of course we came and got you. Good captains don't leave their beasts in the claws of the enemy. You're with us, Saveaux, that makes you our responsibility. We're both okay." The stoat winced a bit. "Well, aside from being punched and kicked a couple of times by that thug Jeremy, but we more than paid him back."

Biara nodded. "We should probably try to go downstairs and meet up with the others. We all need to eat, especially you. And I doubt Jeremy will be trying anything immediately, especially so soon, especially when we're with the others."

Nallmian nodded. "Seems reasonable. We can check on Desmond, too, he wasn't in my room," the stoat paused, and then smiled. "Hey, that's it! Desmond! We can tell Desmond to go have a squirrel-to-squirrel talk with Jeremy and plant some misinformation. We'll have him say that he overheard Agatha telling us about him and giving us information to help in our rescue. Also, I think Agatha was with the servants helping to host the ball, so we can say that she was also in on distracting the staff so there was nobody to stop us or help Jeremy. At the same time, we'll be telling Agatha that Jeremy has weakened."

"Push both of them against each other at the same time, rather than just pushing one," Biara looked thoughtful. "That makes sense. Agatha's got to hate the fact that she's only second in command because of such a tiny difference in age. We'll play on her ego. She'll be in a bad mood, with a headache, from the herbs, if she had any. It'll be easy to get her nice and angry about Jeremy usurping the authority and respect that should rightfully be hers. We'll tell her to just look at last night. She threw together a ball at the last second and managed to have it turn out pretty well, while Jeremy was off running around behind the Professor's back in a way that resulted in more servants being killed, and him being turned into a squirrel candle."

Both mustelids looked at Saveaux. The newt looked hesitant, as though torn between two opposing mental forces. But finally, he looked at them both, and nodded. He also started to get up, apparently ready to go downstairs.

Nallmian smiled at the newt's progress. "Well, you seem ready for some food. Let's go downstairs and catch a bite to eat, then it's time to play some head games." The two mustelids and their amphibian charge left the room and headed down to find something to eat.

On their way down to breakfast, the three stopped in to look at the remnants of the ball. The most immediately noticeable thing was that the large chandelier that had still been above their heads when the two mustelids had left the ball was now on the floor, with the mangled, bloody corpses of five woodlanders pinned beneath it, broken limbs in grotesque positions, faces contorted in silent grimaces. The two mustelids exchanged a glance, wondering if someone had deliberately dropped it, or if there had been an accident of some kind. Continuing to walk through the room, they noticed that some of the ball guests had never made it back to their own rooms. There were servants still sprawled out, fast asleep. Servants, and a certain upper class squirrel…

Desmond didn't wake up as Nallmian nudged him with the tip of his boot, so the stoat knelt down and shook him awake. It took some doing, but finally the squirrel began to come around. He opened an eye lazily. "Oh hi, you missed quite a party last—ooohhhh!" The squirrel suddenly groaned, and clutched the sides of his head. "'Gates, 'GATES, that hurts!" the squirrel groaned out. He looked at Biara and his eyes narrowed, but he didn't look as angry as Nallmian had expected.

"Did you like the tea I gave you, Desmond?" Biara asked pleasantly.

The squirrel snorted. "Well, it dulled the pain, made me see funny things, and made boring beasts seem almost interesting. That last one would come in handy around here."

Biara smiled sweetly. "Well, Desmond, perhaps now you've learned the value of being courteous and polite to others."

"Very funny," he said miserably and sat up, still looking a little groggy. "Well, you've had your little joke, and you've gotten your little half-witted friend back in one piece. What do you want now?" He looked at Nallmian, an amused glint in his eye. "And hello to you, Captain Nallmian. Did you grab a servant who actually fought back? Or are hordes in your captain – er, captains in your horde – supposed to get beaten up in the line of duty?"

"I'm going to let that one go, Desmond, because as you can see we managed to successfully rescue Saveaux," the stoat said pleasantly, than reached over and patted Desmond on the head rather hard, making the squirrel wince a bit.

"Well good. Glad to hear I didn't almost get my head bashed in for nothing," Desmond grumbled.

Biara looked slightly quizzical and looked over at the chandelier. "I'm sorry? What do you mean by that? Did the chandelier almost land on you?"

Desmond started to shake his head, then looked like he regretted it. "No. Halfway through the party, everyone was having a splendid time – especially Quincy… I think even he might have eaten the food, even though I told him not to – when, without any warning, the chandelier came down, the lights went out, and a… an enormous, angry thing came lumbering toward me. I don't know what it was. It was huge – I imagine it could punch through a stone wall or lift a tree out of the ground without much effort." He paused and touched his forehead gingerly. "I don't know what happened next. Flynn started shouting something at it, and it left. Can't say I blame it," he added darkly.

The mustelids exchanged a glance, and Nallmian turned backt to Desmond. "Well, Desmond, that just goes to show that we're all in danger from the Professor and his minions, even you. Which is why you'll want to hear our suggestion for how to get them back."

"Do tell," the squirrel growled, still looking cranky. "I see I'm not going to get rid of you without letting you spill your brilliant plans first."

"Well, when we were rescuing Saveaux, we got into a fight with Jeremy. He was pretty formidable. He could throw a punch, and hitting him was like punching a board. However, it turns out he is not fireproof. We managed to set him on fire—"

"With my really good damson wine!" Biara chimed in.

"Yes, with Biara's very tasty damson wine. She broke a bottle of it over his head and in his face, I grabbed a wall torch, and the rest was obvious. The squirrel candle ran out of the room screaming and trying to put himself out. We think he survived, due to the absence of a dead body. Now, back when we first met up, we had a…conversation, with another castle servant."

"Oh joy," Desmond deadpanned.

Nallmian ignored the squirrel. "While we were questioning him, he told us that Jeremy has a strong rivalry with a female rat named Agatha, who, after him, is the second most senior of the castle servants, and like him has much more individuality than most of the servants you see around the castle. Enough to have ambition of her own, and enough to resent the fact that Jeremy gets to lord it over her despite the fact that he's only her senior because she was born just a very little bit later. Now, to retaliate against the servants, we were going to go find Agatha and talk to her. We'll tell her what Jeremy did, tell her just how badly it backfired on him, and make sure she knows that Jeremy is at his very weakest right now, having just severely botched what was probably an unauthorized operation, with the result of several of his closest staff members being killed and him being lit on fire," the stoat continued. " The idea is to get her to start making he rmove against Jeremy, therefore distracting him, and either keeping him out of our fur for a bit, or even better, killing him."

"Fine, good idea. Now why don't you go do that and leave me alone?" The squirrel said, still looking groggy and irritable.

"Well, there's another side to this whole thing," Biara said. "We were thinking that we should also push from the other side, try to get Jeremy to act against Agatha. You're a squirrel, he's a squirrel, so we were thinking that you should go talk to Jeremy. You can spread some misinformation. Tell him that you overheard Agatha talking to us and conspiring against him. Tell him that she gave us a bunch of information on him, and then arranged for most of the staff to be out of the way by hosting a ball."

"I don't know. It sounds like an awful lot of work on my part…" Desmond said.

"Well, the alternative is for you to just sit around and do nothing until the hulking beast who stalked you at the party comes back and turns you into a squirrel pancake. This way, at least you're taking the fight to the servants. Who knows? Maybe if enough of Falliss' staff dies, more than one of us can escape from the castle. Falliss said he only wanted one of us to escape, but if his staff gets too depleted, how is he going to keep us in here until that happens? If we can weaken his support structure enough that we can all get out, nobody else has to die here. Well, except a few servants. But honestly, who cares about them?" Nallmian said, hoping the snobby squirrel was practical enough to accept his advice.

"Not to mention that if you help us, it helps us help you stay safe. And I can probably think of something to help with that headache of yours after you go talk to Jeremy," the marteness added.

Desmond eyed her distastefully. "I think I've had enough of your tea," he growled. He thought for a moment and sighed. "All right. I suppose it's better than just waiting around for another beast to die. Yes, I'll talk to Jeremy. I'm sure he'll be shocked to find out how I "overheard" Agatha and the two of you plotting to overthrow him. I expect he'll be quite livid when I'm through with him, so assuming the two of you don't make a complete mess of things, it should work. I'll just have to take a leap of faith to trust in your competence."

Nallmian suppressed a quip and instead just said "That's fine. We can handle Agatha. We'll head out after breakfast to go find her and tell her that Jeremy is vulnerable. Hopefully by this evening the two of them will be at each others' throats and no longer thinking about killing us."

"Speaking of killing, you four have a lot of explaining to do!" Rhea marched into the room, flanked by Quincy and Kima. "We need some answers, and we're not leaving until we get them."


	45. Gathered Together In Bands

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 43. Gathered Together In Bands  
**

_by Rhea  
_

Rhea's pillow had slid to the outside of the bed by the time she woke up, though her paws were buried under the blankets. She pulled them free and groggily stood. There was no reason to lie about with as many questions to answer as she had.

First came breakfast, however. Perhaps one of her fellow guests would meet here there? But she had woken up earlier than she expected. Only a few servants staffed the dining hall, and the first one she saw departed upon her request for scones. He returned shortly after, and she ate in peace.

Nice as it would have been to begin immediately, Rhea knew that she would not help her cause by waking up the others. It had been a late night, and a tiring one too. She might as well go back to bed, if only for a moment or so.

She did return to bed, and she spent rather longer than a moment there. There was no light to stream into her room and indicate the morning was late, which was still a disappointment, and she wasn't yet hungry for lunch. Nevertheless, she returned to the dining hall. The easiest guest to talk to, if the least likely suspect, was also the most likely to be found in the vicinity of food at any given moment.

In time, Quincy duly entered, ready for lunch. Or brunch, perhaps, though he wasn't picky. "Over here," Rhea whispered edgily.

"Wait a tick." Quincy nodded at a passing mouse servant. "I say there chap, you wouldn't mind snagging me a salad and a roll, wot? You hungry, Rhea?"

By then, in fact, she was. "A little bit, just a roll is fine. Come over here."

"What's all the secrecy? We're the only ones here."

"Doesn't hurt to be careful."

"What's going on?" Quincy warily replied.

"How closely did you keep an eye on Desmond? The day we were searching in groups."

"I haven't been "keeping an eye" on anyone. We broke up into groups to search the castle, not to baby-sit each other."

"A simple "not at all" would have worked." Rhea hadn't expected much more out of Quincy, but she didn't bother to moderate her tone. "Now, about the wall upstairs. Or, should I say, the lack of wall."

"The hole..." Quincy shuddered, remembering the ghastly room. "With all those dead creatures inside? I saw that."

Rhea nodded. "Did you knock the wall in?"

"What? Me? No. Do—do you think Desmond did?"

"He might've. It would help to know when you let him out of your sight."

"I didn't do it. I don't think Desmond or Flynn did, either."

"So that leaves the others." It made sense, after all. Quincy would be smart enough to try the outer walls if he could, and it was difficult to imagine him wielding an axe. "Okay, thanks."

She rose and left, hoping Biara was nearby. At least she knew which room was _not_ hers.

"Your roll, ma'am?" asked the mouse, balancing two of them in one paw and Quincy's salad in another.

"Oh. Yes." Rhea turned back for the meager lunch, trying to stuff too much of it into her mouth in the rush to eat and move on. As she gnawed on the ungainly part of the bite that did not fit, Quincy raised a paw to beckon her over. "Whizzit?"

"Why did you ask about Desmond? And nobody else?"

He really was smart.

It could have been much worse; there was nobeast in the castle that she trusted more. Thinking of an alibi would take too long, and there was no reason not to let him know. Had he answered differently, she might already have told him about the mole. Still, she felt vaguely disappointed without knowing why as she said, "There's a dead mole in his room. A servant. Or at least there was during the ball."

When Quincy's numb face remembered the power of speech, he spluttered, "But—why would Desmond want to kill a servant? He—I don't think he could do that."

"I'm not sure either. Which is why I'm looking for someone who _does_ have some answers."

"I'm sorry, I...I had no idea." He chewed on his salad, steadying himself. "Let me come with you. I know Desmond better than you; I might be able to get him to talk."

"Fair enough." Rhea stood, heading for the rest of the castle.

"Don't you want any more food?"

"I'm not hungry."

Wide-eyed, he followed her into the main hall, but Kima, emerging from the basement, grabbed his attention instead. "Where have you been?" Quincy asked.

"E-exploring, downstairs," she stammered.

"Oh? Find anything interesting?"

"Not yet. Maybe...maybe you could help me look?" Kima smiled. "I was looking there before, it got a bit repetitive. But you'd have some fresh, uh, eyes."

"Sounds like a plan."

Despite Quincy's animation, or perhaps because of it, Rhea cleared her throat. "Is now the best time?"

"Oh," he exhaled. "Rhea and I were going to go look for some of the others."

"Really? What for?"

Before Quincy could give away everything, Rhea interjected. The cat was on edge, as wound up than she'd been after Raine's death. Kima wasn't Rhea's most likely suspect, but no sense in revealing too much. "You remember the wall that got destroyed, right?"

"Of course."

"Quincy doesn't think any of his group did it, so we're going to look for the others and see what they know."

"Oh."

"Do you want to come with us?" Quincy asked.

"Sure!" she grinned. "Any idea where they are?"

"Probably upstairs." Rhea headed for the staircase she'd taken the previous night, Quincy following behind when he realized she wasn't going to wait for him. Kima, however, lagged behind. "Rhea?"

"What?" she snapped.

Ears tilted towards the ballroom, she moved forward. "Someone's inside there."

Quincy scurried after her, Rhea bringing up the rear. She made out intermittent phrases—"If you help us...another beast to die..."

"Let's go." The badger powered forward, passing up the others into the comfort of the lead.

"...no longer thinking about killing us," Nallmian finished from the inside.

Rhea leaned forward, putting her weight on her front paw as if to crush the ballroom floor underneath. "Speaking of killing, you four have a lot of explaining to do!" Quincy and Kima nervously entered. "We need some answers, and we're not leaving until we get them."

"Take it easy," said Nallmian. "What's the problem?"

Kima glanced at the heavily bandaged Saveaux. "Maybe the newt can tell us?"

"He's healing," Biara replied. "He can't talk right now."

"Healing from what?" Rhea glared at Nallmian, then let one eye rove towards Desmond for good measure.

"He was captured by some of the servants," the marten explained. "We broke into the servants' quarters to rescue him."

"When one of your teammates is in danger or gets hurt, you don't just sit around doing nothing," Nallmian said. The stoat looked at Quincy and smirked. "I'm sure the hare would have done the same for his comrades. Oh, that's right, he hasn't got any. They kicked him out for being a ponce."

The hare's jaw clenched silently, but Rhea held up a cautionary paw. "Desmond, there's a dead mole in your bedroom," she stated flatly. "How did it get there?"

"I've no idea," he replied, unfazed. "I'd like to know, myself."

"What were _you_ doing in another guest's room?" Biara challenged.

"Looking for you, actually." Rhea felt dimly conscious that she was too far on the offensive, but she ignored the sensation, preferring the giddy rush of spite. "Where were you during the ball?"

"Rescuing Saveaux," she explained as if to a child.

Rhea glowered as Quincy wondered "Why would anyone want to hurt him?"

"Maybe so we'd suspect each other," Nallmian suggested. "The Professor wants blood."

"The mole was more than enough for me. Does anyone else know anything about that?" Rhea demanded.

Nallmian shook his head. "I don't _know_ anything," Biara mused, "But I don't think any of us had any reason to do him in."

Rhea ignored Nallmian's blink, fixated on the chance to learn more. "How do you know it's a him?"

"Her, whatever. Could the Professor have done it himself?"

"He doesn't look fit to kill anybody," Kima remarked. "Unless he had another servant do it."

"But why would he be killing off his own servants?" Quincy pointed out.

"To turn us against each other," Nallmian cynically pronounced. "Saveaux could have been an example too. And it's working, isn't it?"

"Not if we can find a way out," Rhea asserted. "Did you knock in the wall upstairs?"

"Why do you ask?" the stoat edgily replied.

"If it worked on an inside wall, it can work on an outside wall. Why don't we all get axes and cut our way out of here?"

"Suit yourself if you'd like to try, you hardly need my permission."

"Saveaux," Quincy gently smiled, "do you know anything about...any of this?"

The newt shook his head. "Leave him alone," Biara commanded. "Come on, Saveaux, you need some more medicine."

He scurried forward, Biara confidently a step behind. "Where do you think you're going?" Rhea growled. "We're not finished."

"My friend is injured and, if you'll excuse me, I plan to help him."

"Some of us have more productive things to do than standing around and moralizing," added Nallmian.

Rhea was too stunned to be truly outraged, and the moment's pause was all Saveaux needed to pass her and head for the exit. While she could have chased after him, of course, he didn't seem to be able to communicate much even if he did know anything. By then there wasn't much point in protesting Biara's departure.

Nallmian attempted to join them, but Rhea drew the line there. "Don't pretend you're going to bandage up his tail. What else do you know? You and Desmond both."

"Desmond?" The stoat expansively turned his head from side to side. "Don't see him."

"He was just here!" Aggravated, Rhea stormed forward, glancing around the ballroom while giving the chandelier a wide berth. While she did so, unsurprisingly, Nallmian scampered out.

"He must have left while we were talking," Quincy suggested.

"Indeed." Rhea took a mental inventory of the dwindling guests. "Has anybody seen Flynn?"

Quincy shook his head, while Kima laughed nervously. "Sleeping in?"


	46. In Hiding

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 44. In Hiding  
**

_by Quincy  
_

"Maybe we should go look for her."

Rhea's eyes clouded with vague suspicion as she spoke. After a moment's thought she nodded resolutely.

"And I think Saveaux should come with us," she added, moving out into the hall quicker than Quincy had ever seen her move. The hare followed, hearing Kima's trepidatious footsteps behind him.

"Hold it right there," Rhea called.

The trio halted in their tracks and turned to face the inquisitive badger as she, Quincy, and Kima approached.

Nallmian feigned a look of great long-suffering. "What do you want now?"

"Saveaux," Rhea said determinedly.

"What about him?" sneered the stoat.

"We want to make sure he's well cared for in his current state. He needs rest, so I _insist_ that we take care of him now."

Biara looked somewhat amused at that. "_You_ take care of him? I'd like to see how you plan on doing that when you don't have access to any medicine or the skills to use them effectively." The marten spoke as if to a kit. "I'm a professional. I assure you that he'll be well cared for."

"Cared for..." the badger repeated. "Just like those poor servants, I suppose?"

Biara laughed. "In case you've forgotten, Rhea, I'm a healer. It's not exactly in my best interest to go around slicing up servants." She glanced sidelong at the badger. "You, on the other paw, seem to be the only beast to have witnessed this dead mole in Desmond's room. Decidedly curious, if you ask me."

Sensing another argument coming on, Quincy held up his paws placatingly. "Lady Rhea, Miss Biara, please. I'm sure you've both got good reasons behind what you're saying, but I can't help but notice that none of us have even bothered to ask Saveaux what he himself wants. He's not some object to be tossed about willy-nilly; he's a living, breathing creature with opinions of his own."

The hare knelt before Saveaux, gazing kindly into the woebegone little newt's eyes. "What's it to be, chap?" he asked gently. "Need a change of scenery, or are you fine where you are?"

Quincy found himself wanting Saveaux to change sides, but knew this was the fairest way of deciding his fate. He had suspicions of his own about Nallmian and Biara, but he reminded himself that he also had suspicions about basically every guest but Rhea.

Seconds ticked by. Saveaux blinked; Quincy could almost see the gears working behind the great twin orbs. Rhea and Biara both looked like they wanted to say something to the newt but held their tongues. Finally, Saveaux took a step backward.

"I staaaay...heeeerrre."

Quincy tried to ignore Biara's annoyingly smug grin. "All right, I guess that's settled then. Come on, Rhea, Kima, we've got an ottermaid to find."

"Okay, Mummy, are we finished with time-out?" Nallmian mocked, twisting the hem of his tunic like a restless stoatchild.

Quincy stared at Nallmian, utterly unimpressed. "I'm pretty sure everyone's sick of your puerile jokes, Nallmian. Yes, we're finished, if you're finished acting like a child."

"Quincy, don't give rise..." Rhea started.

"No, it's all quite all right, badger," said Nallmian. "I'm sure our darling hare is just getting in touch with his motherly side."

"All I'm doing is trying to get us out of here without any more senseless deaths," Quincy growled. "Thus far the only thing you've done is make light of every single death that's taken place here. You're practically choking yourself in a cloud of suspicion, and if you're too stupid to see that, that's your own bally problem."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?"

Quincy spun on his heel. "Ignore him. Let's go..._kiddies_."

Nallmian called something after Quincy about always running away from everything, but the hare only vaguely heard it as he stomped away.

"Quincy Tulep!" Rhea gasped when they'd gone out of earshot of Biara, Nallmian, and Saveaux. Quincy couldn't tell if her tone was surprised, reproving, or some combination of the two, but he found that he didn't really care.

"Lady Rhea?"

The badger shook her striped head. "I...I just don't understand you sometimes. One moment you're playing peacemaker and coddling Saveaux, and the next you're attacking Nallmian."

"Saveaux actually _deserves_ to be treated kindly," Quincy huffed. "I don't like Nallmian, and while I want the rest of us to get out of this alive, I would hope that once we're clear of this place I'd never have to look at his smug face ever again."

"Well, just be careful," Rhea said, patting his shoulder with a big paw.

Quincy allowed himself a faint smile. "You as well, Lady Rhea. You don't seem to have won yourself any points with Biara."

"Oh, don't worry about me," said Rhea. "I tell you what. How about you two go find Flynn, and I'll look for Desmond."

"M-me?" Kima piped up.

"Yes, come on, I'm sure it won't take long to find her," said Quincy. "We'll all meet up in the dining hall later."

Rhea waved a short farewell and they parted ways.

* * *

When Flynn proved to not be in her room, Quincy suggested, "Well, shall we start with the basement and work our way up?"

Kima flinched. "Basement? Why start in the basement?"

"Oh, er, well, let's just say I've seen some suspicious activity down there of late, so why not kill two birds with one stone?"

_"What?"_ The feline's eyes bulged. "How much did you see?"

"Kima, is something wrong?" Quincy asked. "You've been acting rather strange all morning."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said quickly. "Just...I think the ultimatum's really starting to wear on me."

Quincy eyed her carefully. "Right, well, that I understand. I think it's getting to all of us, but if we're to get out of this alive, we've got to keep our wits about us.

"Now, I've seen one of the servants, the hare that brought me to the castle, skulking about down in the basement, and I intend to get to the bottom of it. I think she may be looking for something—or someone—down there."

"Oh, yes, when our group was searching the castle, Raine said she heard something down there, some strange noise, and Flynn said she did too..." Kima paused, then added hurriedly, "Er, last night, at the ball."

"Really? How intriguing. Well, come on then, this has to be explored further. We might even run into Flynn down there."

The hare started down the stairs, and Kima followed with a nervous chuckle. As they reached the bottom of the basement stairs, Quincy put a paw to his lips, indicating that Kima should keep silent. The wildcat trembled but said nothing. The basement was quiet and seemed deserted, but upon closer examination Quincy noticed the door to the storage room was cracked, and faint rustling sounds came from within.

Giving Kima another warning look, the hare crept quietly to the door. Thankfully Kima's natural feline grace lent itself perfectly to stealth. Perhaps it was good that Rhea had not been able to come with them after all.

A familiar voice drifted out to Quincy's ears, mumbling and frantic.

"There it is, there it is, thank the fates! Oh, but what do I do now...?"

Peering through the crack in the door, Quincy saw Jolice standing on the far end of the room with her back to him. Beckoning Kima to follow him, he nudged the door gently open and stepped into the room. Jolice was staring intently at an ornate stone relief of a badger on the wall and did not notice the pair approaching until Quincy spoke softly to her.

"Hello."

The haremaid jumped and spun about, trying in vain to hide the life-sized figure of the badger behind her back.

"I didn't do it, it was an accident, don't..._Quincy_?"

Quincy felt a fresh pang of guilt for what had transpired last night. "Jolice," he said. "Look, I'm..."

Jolice held up a paw. "No, it's all right, you don't need to say anything. I suppose I deserved it, in a way."

"Wait a second," Kima interrupted, "you're a servant, right? Why aren't you talking like the other ones always do?"

The haremaid crossed to the door and closed it before rejoining Quincy and Kima at the far end of the room. "Never cared for the whole thing, personally. And let's just say I won't be needing to act like a walking corpse for much longer."

Quincy was stunned. "The whole thing was an act? But what about the ball? Everyone was acting more relaxed there because of the drugs. Blimey, I thought the only acting going on was when...well...when you brought me to the castle."

"I didn't touch a crumb at the ball," said Jolice. "When I found out what was going on with the other servants I knew I needed to stay alert. And do you really think I'd prefer to act like that?"

"Well, the others seem to," said Kima.

Jolice shrugged. "True, Jeremy and Agatha and the others do. I'd like to think I'm not like them."

"How so?" Kima inquired.

"Well, I wasn't even born here, for a start. Neither was my mother."

"Then how did you come to be here?"

Jolice's eyes hardened like flints as she recounted her story. "When I was just a leveret, a merchant ferret came to our home, ransacked the place and ended up killing my father and capturing my mother and I. He had no remorse for what he did. He was just looking for something valuable to trade, and that's all my mother and I were to him: objects, prizes. We were beaten for everything imaginable, even grieving for my father. One day Jeremy showed up at this ferret's shop and said Falliss had need of some new servants. He passed over a sack of gold and our fate was decided. I haven't seen my mother since the first day we arrived at the castle. It was as if she just disappeared." She gazed at the carved badger. "But hopefully all that's about to change. I've been searching for this place ever since I heard the voices, heard the rumors of servants being hidden away."

"Jolice, I'm really sorry," said Quincy, and he meant it, despite what the haremaid had put him through.

"No need," she said again.

Quincy thought for a moment. "Wait, you said earlier you needed to stay alert at the ball. Why is that?"

"Well, as it turns out, Biara's little stunt wasn't just useful to herself and Nallmian...Yes, I heard what happened to Jeremy...And I myself took advantage of the situation. Drugging the servants certainly loosened their lips. Remember Matthew, the weasel I was dancing with last night? I asked him where my mother was and he sang like a robin on the first day of spring." The haremaid indicated the badger on the wall. "See this? I didn't even know it existed until last night." She swung a nearby large stack of crates back over the relief with all the ease of one closing a door.

Kima looked positively boggled. "How did you do that?"

"It's quite brilliant, actually," said Jolice. "They're just empty crates, all nailed together with hinges attached to the wall."

She pulled on them again and the curiously shaped door slid open again. Quincy rapped his knuckles against one of the crates.

"Huh, that is pretty smart. You can't even see the hinges from the outside."

Jolice inspected the stone badger once more. "Let's see, Matthew said something about 'pressing the crest,' I think it was. Crest, crest, where is the crest?"

"Is that it?" Kima pointed to an ornate pin shaped like a shield on the badger's cloak.

"Well, only one way to find out." Jolice reached up and pressed a paw to the cloak pin, and to Quincy's surprise it sank into the wall. There was a click followed by the grate of stone upon stone. The relief swung slowly back, revealing a great doorway. A set of stairs spiraled down into darkness.

Quincy looked at Jolice, but the haremaid was staring at the doorway with a determined smile.

"Well, come on then," she said.

* * *

The staircase twisted in tight circles, and no torches were to be seen. Instead, the trio was guided by a faint glow that grew brighter and brighter with every step, until at last they emerged in a large, well-lit cavern. All along the walls were doors that led to rooms off the chamber. Sofas and armchairs were strewn about, and creatures of all sorts lounged about on them, chatting amicably with one another. However, all conversation died down as Quincy, Jolice and Kima entered.

A servant mouse approached them.

"Jolice? Has the Professor put you down here too?"

He looked rather uncomfortable, as if he didn't belong here.

Jolice looked every bit as surprised as the mouse. "Hector? What are _you_ doing here?"

"What are _they_ doing here?" asked Hector, pointing at Quincy and Kima.

_"Joli!"_

Jolice gasped. _"Mum!"_

A somewhat plump hare stood up from one of the armchairs. Jolice tore past Quincy and flung herself into her mother's arms, hugging her fiercely. Quincy approached the pair, but Kima and Hector hung back uncertainly by the entrance.

"Ah, easy there, my darling child," the elder hare winced.

It was only when Jolice pulled back that Quincy noticed the gentle convex sweep of her lower abdomen.

"Mum!" Jolice gasped again. "Is it...are you...?"

"Yes..." her mother said. "Oh Jolice, how you've grown into such a pretty maid. Ah, and who might this be?"

"Hello, Madam, my name is Quincy," the hare said.

"Please, call me Althea." Jolice's mother beckoned another hare toward the group. He was tall and lanky, though, like all of the room's inhabitants, he definitely looked to be well-fed.

"This is my mate, Vincent."

"Hello all. Althea's told me much about you, Jolice." Vincent smiled. His scrubby whiskers reminded Quincy of the Sergeant.

"Nice to meet you, I'm sure, but Mum, what's been going on? Why are there so many beasts down here?"

Althea placed a paw on her belly. "Well...I'm not sure how to put this, Jolice...but we're the reason there are so many beasts...up there."

Quincy shook his head. "Althea, Madam, I'm afraid I don't follow you there."

Jolice, on the hand, looked very much like she understood. She took a step back from her mother as though the elder hare was about to be sick.

"No...Not that...I heard rumors but I never believed they could actually be true..."

"Joli, please, it's not that bad," Althea said gently. "The Professor takes good care of all of us. All of our needs are taken care of."

"I don't care! It's wrong!" Jolice yelled.

Quincy grabbed the haremaid's shoulder to brace her. "Calm down, Jolice. Could someone explain to me what's going on?"

"Falliss," said Jolice, "he discourages romantic relationships among the servants. I thought maybe he just kept buying new servants every ten years or so, I thought maybe Jeremy bragging about being made better than the other servants, coming from the line of the fabled treasure hunters of old was just some sort of legend he created for himself. I didn't want to believe they were, they were..."

"They were what?" Quincy asked, dreading the answer.

"...Created," she finished with a shudder.

Quincy's eyes widened. "You mean..."

"Yes, Quincy," Jolice said. "This is why we're not allowed to have relationships. We're supposed to be devoted only to our work and to the Professor. But I've heard some servants say that once we have done enough years of service to the Professor, we are finally taken to a place where we are allowed to love, to have a family...except...well, you can't really call it a family if you never get to see your children, is it? I've heard rumors that Falliss takes them and makes new servants of them, forever perpetuating the cycle. I heard he even locked up that one group of treasure hunters when they came to the castle, many years ago. They must have been the first beasts held captive in this room, producing servants for the Professor. That's all these creatures do down here, have more and more kits to try and fill the ever-gaping hole in their hearts whenever that evil bird takes each one away. I didn't think even Falliss would be capable of something so incredibly _vile_..."

"Joli, don't say such things," Althea pled. "He takes care of us, we're comfortable down here, and we all have each other to keep us company."

"Hold on, Mum, I've got to talk to Quincy and his friend about something," Jolice snapped. She led Quincy back to the entrance, where Kima still waited. Hector had gone back to lounging on a nearby sofa. By Kima's disgusted look, she'd clearly been listening in on the conversation.

"So what is this place, some kind of breeding room?" she said.

"Seems that way." Quincy was feeling vaguely queasy at this revelation. His hatred of Falliss was rapidly reaching unexplored depths.

"Okay, we don't have time," Jolice urged quietly. "Look, I've spent _years_ gaining Falliss's trust, to the point he's let me leave the castle a couple of times. Tomorrow morning I'm going to take advantage of that trust one last time. I'm leaving the castle for good, and I'm getting my mother out of here. If any of you want out, here's your ticket."

The dying embers of hope were suddenly rekindled within Quincy's breast, and the hare felt a giddy sort of warmth sweep through his bones, warming him to the core.

"I'll take it. Kima, we should go find the others at once."

"Yes," said Jolice. "Go on ahead, I've got to convince my mum not to say anything to anyone about what's just happened."

As the hare and wildcat made their way upstairs, Quincy said, "I think we should talk to Rhea about this first. I'm not so sure we should tell Nallmian and Biara right away..."


	47. Ruled By Secrecy

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 45. Ruled By Secrecy  
**

_by Desmond  
_

Desmond's morning, or afternoon, rather, began with being prodded awake none too gently with Nallmian's boot (the indignity!) and it only went downhill from there. First and foremost, there was the lingering headache overshadowing everything, making the lights seem too bright, the voices too loud, and life, in general, overrated.

And then there were Biara and Nallmian with their infuriating request. Talk to Jeremy, Desmond. Tell him lies about Agatha. If you're good little squirrel, then maybe you can have a sweet after dinner, and Mummy and I will be along to tuck you into bed tonight!

Still, refusing would be of no use, because Nallmian's good humor could only be skin deep, and Desmond, despite the gloomy morning, was not quite ready to be killed, especially not by an inferior guttersnipe like the stoat. Doing his best to hide his anger, he agreed, hoping they would go away and let him sleep for a few more hours before he did anything. However, before anyone could do anything, Rhea arrived with the others in her wake and promptly bashed any ideas of more sleep to little bits. The squirrel started when she addressed him directly and fought to keep his expression serene.

"Desmond, there's a dead mole in your bedroom. How did it get there?"

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "I've no idea," he said, and added. "I'd like to know, myself." He felt Biara's gaze on him and read the silent message in her eyes before she spoke: _Get out. Let us take care of it._ Desmond, who had a feeling that there were going to be loud, unpleasant voices in the next few moments, was only too happy to silently agree.

The marten turned her attention to Rhea. "What were _you_ doing in another guest's room?"

The pointed question provided the perfect cover for Desmond to quietly edge toward the door. While the others' eyes were on Rhea as she defended herself, he slipped out of the room and hurried away.

Where to? He tried to clear his head, but his thoughts were still fuzzy. While wandering aimlessly around the first floor, he noticed that his perfectly tailored evening attire was crumpled and sticky, and he scowled when he remembered Flynn's attack. He might not have acted like a perfect gentlebeast, but she'd had no excuse for knocking him into the punchbowl like that!

Before long, the discomfort of his clothing drove him to his bedroom, where he peeked in cautiously; the mole had been removed and the blood and vomit cleaned off the floor, though faint stains marked the carpet. They were easily ignored, however, and he ceased to notice them after a few minutes in the room. He intercepted a servant passing by and ordered the beast to fill the bathtub that sat in one corner of his room. Twenty minutes later, he was peacefully soaking in the steaming water, and probably would have drifted off again if not for the nagging feeling that there was something terribly important that he had to remember. It wasn't what the two vermin had instructed him to do, because he still remembered that clearly, and it still irritated him. No, it was something that had happened the night before. He was sure of it.

Emilie, he thought with a start.

Emilie. He had kissed her last night. Desmond smiled dreamily, closing his eyes and leaning against the back of the tub. It had been a terrible kiss – she was woefully inexperienced. But it had been fun nonetheless, and he knew for sure that the servants' dead exteriors were nothing more than a façade, even if it could only be broken by the influence of Biara's herbs…

No, he realized, with a dreadful sinking feeling, his good mood short-lived. _That_ wasn't what he'd been trying to remember. It was what had happened next.

She had _slapped_ him!

Desmond sighed. All good things must come to an end, he knew, but it was nicer when they didn't end only ten seconds after they started. The memory of her heartless rejection took all the enjoyment from his bath, and he dragged himself out a few minutes later, drying himself off with a fluffy towel that the servant had brought when the tub was filled.

He dressed slowly after finding that moving too quickly made him dizzy. Once the last button had been fastened, he surveyed himself in the mirror and sighed. He looked simply terrible, but there was nothing more he could do; his clothing was perfect, his style was impeccable, but his face was lined and tired. It just wasn't going to be a good day, he reflected sourly as he set out to look for Jeremy.

"Where might I find Jeremy?" he asked a passing ferretess, her arms full of clean linens.

She shrugged. "Try the lounge," she suggested, and went on.

Desmond raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't expected the squirrel to be back at work already after Nallmian's description of what they'd done to him. Perhaps Falliss didn't allow them time off, though…

Thoughtfully, he made his way downstairs and found the lounge, hoping that he looked more confident than he felt. Taking a deep breath, the squirrel swept regally into the room and then stumbled to a stop, coughing, as the smell of burnt flesh flooded his senses. If the sickening stench of meat had been bad at that first, awkward dinner, this was ten times worse, and he couldn't help gagging at the nauseating scent. His eyes were pulled to the source of the reek, and he shuddered.

"You look awful," he said flatly, unable to keep the disgust from his voice.

Jeremy, in fact, looked much worse than awful, but Desmond wasn't completely devoid of the good manners that every gentlebeast had pounded into their skulls.

The head servant didn't reply, except to turn his head in the general direction of his visitor. One of his eyes wandered aimlessly, and Desmond wondered how badly the other squirrel's vision had been impaired.

Unable to bear the silence, Desmond coughed and ventured, "Doesn't that hurt?" Despite the extremity of the burns, Jeremy was completely silent, though his face betrayed that he was not completely immune to what could only be excruciating pain.

"Yes," replied Jeremy in a dry, quiet rasp, only the barest hint of sarcasm undermining his carefully schooled tone. He clutched damp rag in one heavily bandaged paw, and he was listlessly dusting the furniture. "As you can see, I am not in the best condition to serve. Might I suggest finding another servant to help you?"

Desmond shook his head. "I would," he said, sitting in one of the lounge chairs to hide his sense of vertigo, "But I have some information that I think you'll be rather interested to find out." He cleared his throat, but before he could go on, Jeremy interrupted.

"I already know everything about all the guests," the servant ground out. "You yourself have an especially intriguing past." He hesitated for a moment, and then, as if he couldn't help himself, asked, "Were you really married to two beasts at once, or was that just a rumor?"

Desmond laughed inwardly at the servant's curiosity on the subject, but only a twitching of one corner of his mouth betrayed it. "It pains me that you would think such heinous things of me! These tales are often no more than malicious lies, you know – you mustn't believe everything you hear. And actually," he cleared his throat again, "The information I have pertains to one of the servants."

Jeremy looked surprised. "Do you have any complaints about the service?" The idea seemed foreign to him.

"No," Desmond assured him quickly. "The service has been, ah, quite professional. However, I think you ought to know that they're not all as subordinate to you as you might think." He shrugged.

Jeremy blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Desmond began, "There's a certain rattess – I can't quite recall her name… she looks about your age, perhaps a little older."

Jeremy stiffened. "Agatha?"

"Oh, yes," Desmond nodded. "Her."

"She's younger than me," said Jeremy.

Desmond wondered why the age was such a sticky point. Perhaps he could use that…

"Oh?" he asked innocently. "I would never have guessed. In any case, I overheard a most intriguing conversation between her and two of the guests yesterday. And, well – it seems she isn't as submissive to you as you think. In fact, from the sound of it…" He cleared his throat. "I believe she was enlisting their help in overthrowing you."

Jeremy shook his head slowly. "Agatha wouldn't do that. We all work together for the professor. Deposing me would accomplish nothing."

Desmond adopted a sympathetic tone. "Ah, perhaps not from your point of view. But Agatha may feel that she would be a more effective head servant. Killing you is just the fastest way of getting her there."

Jeremy thought for a moment. "Agatha wouldn't kill me."

Desmond shrugged. "_She_ might not," he agreed, "But getting someone else to do the job for her might not be out of her interests. I have reason to believe she was responsible for seeing to it that most of the servants were at the ball last night, and therefore unable to come to your aid. Thinking back to her conversation with them earlier, it was quite clear to me that she was setting things up so that the stoat and the marten would have a clear shot at you."

The other squirrel was silent for a long pause, and then he twitched, as if remembering Desmond was there. "I'll… think about this," he said at last. "Thank you."

"But of course," Desmond said graciously. He rose unsteadily from his chair and turned to leave, but was unable to tear his eyes away from the other squirrel. "Do you – that is, is there a doctor on the staff attending you…?"

Jeremy was rigid. "The professor sees to it that we are provided for," he said simply, and went back to his dusting.

"Oh," said Desmond brightly. "So if you die of gangrene, the coffin's all paid for. That's reassuring." Flashing a cheerful smile at the other squirrel, he exited the room.

Automatically, he started back to his bedroom - though, he mused, there wasn't really a safe place in the whole castle. The thought gnawed at him and it was joined by other worries; where had Flynn gotten to, for one thing? Not that he wasn't enjoying her absence, but he couldn't help but wonder if anything had happened to her…

The sound of a pawstep behind him jerked him out of his train of thought and he whirled around with a cry. There was no one there, however, and he tried to convince himself that he'd imagined the noise – because if he hadn't, somebeast was following him. The thought made him shiver as he staggered up the stairs to the second floor.

"Wait," came a low growl from behind him.

Desmond didn't turn to see who it was before he quickened his pace. Pulse hammering in his ears, he stumbled upward as fast as his legs would take him, panting.

"Desmond!" The voice was raised, and he almost tripped in his blind hurry. "Wait! I just want to talk to you!"

The squirrel lurched to a halt as his ears perked in recognition. He turned slowly to face Rhea, his chest rising and falling as he gasped for air.

"You frightened me," he rasped before she could ask him why he had fled. "What is it you want?"

She crossed her arms, breathing lightly. "I want to know about the mole in your bedroom," she said bluntly.

Desmond chuckled breathlessly. "I find your morbid fascination with the dead servant to be quite disturbing," he remarked amusedly.

The badger's eyes narrowed. "Disturbing or not, I want to know how he was killed. And I think, just maybe, you know."

Desmond realized that flippancy wasn't going to appease her. "Believe me," he said sincerely, "If I knew, I'd tell you; as long as the culprit is alive, the rest of us aren't safe."

Rhea seemed hesitant to accept the answer. "You have no clues? No hunches?"

The squirrel raised his eyebrows. "I thought you wanted an answer, not my suspicions about other beasts," he remarked, letting a note of surprise into his voice. "In any case, either way, I'm afraid I have nothing to tell you. As far as I know, any one of you could have done it." He shrugged.

"Don't you _want_ to know?" She asked irritably.

"Well, of course," Desmond said evenly. "I mean, I don't know about you, but I don't enjoy walking into my room and finding a corpse on the floor beginning to smell. I don't think such things should be allowed!"

The badger lady stared at him for a moment and clenched one paw into a fist. "You really are an idiot, aren't you," she snapped. "I don't know if you're covering up for yourself or somebeast else, but trust me, I'll get to the bottom of this!" With that, she turned on her heel and swept back down the stairs.

Desmond stared after her for a moment, a frown marking his features; he'd been more or less apathetic toward the badger up 'til now, but his indifference was rapidly turning into dislike. Slowly, he ascended the last few stairs and glanced around, moving forward more quickly when he caught sight of Nallmian and Biara in front of the library. The two waited for him to approach, and he resented them for forcing him to take those few extra steps.

"I talked to Jeremy," he announced. "I don't know how much he believed me – my goodness, you didn't muck about when you set him alight, did you?"

Biara nodded, smiling pleasantly. "Yes, I imagine he must have looked dreadful. Burns are ever so excruciating, you know. Have a nasty habit of getting infected, too." The marteness might as well have been commenting on how nice the weather was. Desmond couldn't suppress a small shudder at her unfeeling words.

"Where's the newt?" He asked, more to distract himself than from curiosity. "You haven't lost him again, I hope." He paused, and then added grumpily, "Because I absolutely refuse to help rescue him ever again."


	48. Cat's Out of the Bag

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 46. Cat's Out of the Bag  
**

_by Kima  
_

Kima was having a most unpleasant time of things. She had watched Flynn disappear into the shadowy depths of the underground lake, and her usual cheeriness had disappeared along with the otter. Really, though, she could trace the beginning of her downward spiral to the moment Raine had been crushed by the bookshelf – or even when that bird had given that blasted ultimatum.

And now this room! Kima shuddered. All these woodlanders and vermin just sitting down here, not caring a single wit they were prisoners to an ancient bird with a diabolically-twisted mind.

She felt sick. She felt like wringing their necks and shouting at them to get it through their thick skulls that this was all wrong. She felt like gouging somebeast's eyes out.

And then that doe hare said something that made it all worthwhile. "…If any of you want out, here's your ticket."

A thrill of hope ran through Kima. Escape! Out of this bloody castle. Out into the real world where everyone wasn't trying to kill each other. As they ascended the staircase to the basement, Kima found herself grinning uncontrollably. The Fates hadn't abandoned her yet!

"I think we should talk to Rhea about this first. I'm not so sure we should tell Nallmian and Biara right away…"

The pair reached the exit and stepped back out into the chill air of the basement. Kima smiled. "And let's not tell Desmond at all." She pulled the relief of the badger closed, locking it in place with a satisfying click. Grabbing a hold of the fake crates, she swung them shut, marveling at the ingenuity. "No one would ever guess…"

A loud clatter, and a yelp from Quincy, had Kima whirling about, tail bottlebrushed out.

Quincy was kneeling on the floor, a wooden crate lying on top of his left leg. He looked a little sheepish. "They looked stable to me."

Kima giggled and helped the hare lift the crate off his leg. A protruding nail caught her attention. It glistened wetly. "Are you alright?"

Quincy winced and sat down on the offending crate, feeling at his leg. "Feels like something stabbed me. I think I might be bleeding."

Kima pointed to the offending nail. "I think that's the culprit. Here, let me take a look." She knelt down beside the hare and quickly covered her nose with her shirt. "Hoo! You're bleeding alright." Grabbing hold of Quincy's ankle, she propped up his footpaw and gently pushed back his pant leg. The thick fur on his lower leg was in the process of becoming matted with blood.

His long footpaw pointed up towards the ceiling. Weren't rabbit footpaws supposed to be lucky? Kima took one look and dismissed that as completely ridiculous. These things were _huge_; much too large to try and carry around. And wasn't Quincy a hare, anyways?

"How's it look to you?" Quincy had leaned forward, trying to get a good look at the cut, but he couldn't quite twist to the right angle.

"It doesn't look too bad." Kima peered closely, and the scent seeped through the fabric over her nose. Her mind began to fog. "We should, uh, probably clean it…"

_But it smells so good! Why clean it?_

Her shirt began to slip from her nose. She came a little closer. The scent grew stronger. Maybe if she just licked it clean…

"…the blood, Kima?"

Kima jerked back guiltily, shirt slipping completely back into place. "Huh? What?"

Quincy was looking at Kima, a gleam of suspicion in his eyes. "I said, could you staunch the blood?"

"…Staunch the blood…?" The words barely came out as more than a whisper. By now, she could practically taste the blood, its smell was so strong. She struggled to keep a hold of herself, but it was a lost cause. All else faded away as Kima stared at Quincy's lower leg, the uneven splotch of red spreading through his winter coat. The fresh blood teased her nose, tantalizingly attractive. It just smelled so tasty. She wanted it. She needed it. Surely one little lick wouldn't hurt…

Kima's claws slid from her pads, and her grip on Quincy's ankle tightened perceptibly. _Just one little lick._ Leaning down, she slowly ran her tongue through the bloodied fur. Her eyes closed in delighted rapture as she tasted the salty, coppery mixture of sweat and blood.

"K-Kima…?" Quincy's voice was alarmed, aroused suspicions rapidly being confirmed.

The cut was clean now, but she wanted more. Kima bared her teeth and bit. A warm wetness flowed into her mouth, filling her senses, overloading her tastebuds. Exquisite.

Quincy let out a yelp and leapt up, managing to pull free of Kima's grip. "Gates! What's bloody wrong with you?" Blood now ran freely from his wound, slowly seeping down his leg and intensifying the smell tenfold.

Kima growled, but said nothing. She was hardly there, anymore. Tail lashing, she fixed her eyes on the hare and pounced.

Quincy tried to jump out of the way, but he didn't quite make it. Kima tackled him to the ground, arms pinning down his. She stared down at her prey. Its whiskers danced and shook in a way that was entirely too enticing. With one paw, she batted at them, claws lightly brushing the hare's face.

For several seconds, this amused her, but when she tried to grab them, the hare jerked his head to the side. Anger rose in her. The stupid thing shouldn't be moving! Why couldn't it just lie still and let her play? Its mouth was moving, but Kima didn't understand a thing said.

A long growl tore its way from her throat. Her hackles rose. She would make it stop. The wildcat bared her teeth in a snarl, lunged down, and…

Two long footpaws dug painfully into her gut. The next thing Kima knew, she was on her back, deflated lungs crying out in protest. She struggled for breath even as she watched a blur of brown and white fur dash hurriedly by. There was a reason Long Patrol hares were so feared.

A measure of reason settled back into Kima's mind, but it was only just enough for her to feel immeasurable anger for that fleeing long ears. Dropping to all fours, she bounded after him, the taste of blood still fresh in her mouth. The last vestiges of her intelligence disappeared. She gave in completely to the beast within – gave in to its primal desires.

It was time to hunt.

Claws gouging furrows in the dirty floor, Kima followed her quarry out the door and to the left, making for the staircase. She could smell its fear – smell its panic. Muscles bunching, she leapt forward with a single, fluid motion.

At the last second, the hare swerved aside and double backed, heading for the stairs on the other side of the basement.

Landing heavily, it took the cat a moment to recover. Then, she was turned around and again chasing down the lapine. Her four pounding paws melded with his two to create a thumping tremor that reverberated through the solid floor. Her face was transfigured from a peaceful feline into a snarling, growling monster.

Just as she was about to try a second pounce, the hare again swerved, disappearing through an open doorway.

Kima tried to turn, slid along the floor, and slammed into the doorway. Howling in pain, she recovered and looked wildly about for her quarry. There was no sign of it. The cat stalked slowly through, eyes wide and alert. It was close. She could smell it.

Something on the floor caught the torchlight, and she padded over to take a look. A small puddle of blood lay glistening in a doorway. Licking it up with relish, she slowly snuck through into the next room, paws making no noise, tail trailing obediently behind. She kept her eyes on the shadows, looking for any movement.

Something coughed, and her ears swiveled wildly, trying to zero in on the noise. It came from the other side of a barrel. She grinned devilishly, bounded around the corner, and pounced. A shadow squeaked in dismay as it went toppling to the floor.

Breath coming in steady puffs, Kima flexed her claws and roared triumphantly. Warm fur was beneath her paws. There was a steady rise and fall of a chest. But no blood scent. No hare. Triumph turned to confusion. A rat servant, face completely calm – almost – stared at her.

This wasn't what she had been stalking! The realization jolted her at least partially from her trance. Paws grabbing her from behind jolted her a bit more. But it wasn't until her head was pulled up and she found herself staring into the face of the head servant that Kima came fully back to her senses.

She wished she hadn't. The smell of charred flesh wasn't at all appealing. Jeremy's face was a frightening sight to behold. The entire lower half, from right below his nose and down, was missing its fur. The bare skin was blistered and red, glistening with some kind of gel liberally slathered over it. It was like looking at a face made from mashed strawberries. Like looking at some kind of terrifying demon straight from Hell's Gates.

Kima's blood, so hot a moment ago, turned to ice. She tried to shrink away, to make herself as small as possible

"The Professor was right in selecting you, Miss Kima." The squirrel's voice was as dispassionate as ever. Strangely reassuring, in a way. This was still the Jeremy that had greeted her at the castle's gates. "You're a very interesting specimen."

Kima glowered. She didn't like being talked about as if she was nothing more than some kind of wild animal. Her actions from a minute ago didn't even occur to her. "What do you mean?"

"You have begun to exhibit increased predatory characteristics since arriving at the castle. These traits have lain dormant most of your life, but this experiment has begun drawing them into the open." The squirrel sounded as though he was reading from a written document for all the life his voice had. His fearsome gaze remained squarely on the wildcat in front of him. "The Professor is very interested in seeing you develop further. However…" Jeremy wrapped his paw around the soft fur and flesh of Kima's neck. He began to squeeze – softly at first, but slowly harder and harder. She tried to jerk away as her air was cut off. She tried to bite at her assailants, but to no avail. For a squirrel, he had an amazing grip.

Her throat felt ready to collapse and her lungs struggled to draw in air. A gargled mew spilled unbidden from her lips as she struggled. Blackness began crowding her vision.

"If you persist in attacking the Professor's property, the repercussions will be severe, and your participation in this experiment will end. Servants – every single one of them – are not to be touched. Is that understood?"

Kima could do nothing. Much more of this, and she wouldn't even be conscious. Luckily, the vice grip on her throat disappeared. Jeremy apparently wasn't looking for an answer. Air came searing painfully back into her lungs. Coughing and wheezing, the feline hung limply between the servants holding her up.

"We shall be keeping a very close eye on you."

Despite the pain in her neck, Kima jerked her head up to stare at Jeremy. He was actually smiling, a feat that made him all the more frightening. She shuddered.

"Oh yes. Know that everything you do from here out will be watched. Everything." Kima got the message. _Try anything you're not supposed to, and we'll know._ A mixture of fear and hatred directed at this squirrel welled up in Kima.

Jeremy clicked his claws, and those holding her let go. With nothing to hold her up, Kima collapsed to the floor and curled into a furry ball. Tears squeezed their way out from behind her eyelids, and she gently massaged her throat. When her breath finally stopped sounding like a death rattle, she looked cautiously this way and that. She was alone.

Staggering to her feet, leaning against a barrel for support, Kima blinked and stared around again. For the first time, she realized she was in the cellar. From a nearby grate, the low murmur of voices wafted. Her ears flattened – not from fear, but from disgust.

It would have been better if the place was haunted.

Walking from the cellar, she caught her reflection in a mirror and paused. There were specks of crimson tingeing the fur around her mouth. Tasty.

But that wouldn't do. She was heading back upstairs, presumably to interact with the other guests. She needed to seem as innocent as possible. After all, if she wanted to escape tomorrow…

_Wait, what am I thinking?_ After trying to eat him, Quincy would have to be crazy to allow her to tag along on the escape attempt. That realization hit her like a blow to the chest, and she staggered back against the wall.

Then she smiled. _If the servants will be watching my every move…_ Her paws flexed. _That means any escape attempt…Hmph! It's not worth risking my neck._

A smell that was becoming more and more familiar begged for her attention. Glancing at the puddle of blood on the floor, Kima nodded to herself. "That's right. Things to do." She needed to find a certain hare before he told anybeast about what happened in the basement.

She breathed deeply, allowing the scent of blood to again worm its way into her senses, enjoying the way they grew more acute. She was getting used to this, but she did her level best not to let her instincts take complete control of her. After all, she needed to be able to discern who was who and what was what. Tipping a nod at the other wildcat, she headed upstairs, following the trail of blood.

A feral grin tugged at her face, and she indulged it, unaware of how much it gave away.

The crimson patches led straight to the dining hall. As she approached the door, Quincy's urgent voice floated out to her.

"I'm telling you, Lady Rhea! Kima's gone mad! She tried to bloody eat me!"

Kima's ears flattened. So much for keeping things under wraps. Now Rhea knew. Just another liability. Hopefully just another dead body, too, come tomorrow. Smoothing out her clothing, the cat padded silently through the doorway.

Rhea and Quincy were seated at the long dining table. Quincy had a cloth pressed against his wounded leg.

Both turned to look at Kima. It rather reminded her of the first night's dinner. "Quincy! So this is where you went. I was wondering after you just disappeared on me. How are your escape plans going?" She asked this question in a voice much louder than it needed to be. Glancing around at the walls, she wondered if there were any concealed observers. "You know, the ones for tomorrow morning."

"Quit it!" Quincy glared at Kima. "We don't want the whole castle to know."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Kima smiled and winked at the hare. This was actually kind of fun. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

Rhea harrumphed and stood to her feet. "Did you really attack him, Kima?" She spoke the question like an accusation. She was staring at the bloodstains.

Kima walked farther in, wiping self-consciously at her mouth. She was not quite as confident as she was a moment ago. Here was a fully grown badger very, very close to becoming an enemy. There was simply no way Rhea was going to believe a cat she had just met over a hare she had known for presumably years. No point in trying to lie. "Yep."

"Why?"

Kima eyed Quincy, who looked away. "I wanted to."

Rhea digested this for a moment, then asked another question. "Did you kill Raine?"

An image of Raine's face staring forlornly back at her from beneath the bookcase gave Kima pause. Despite her current state of mind, she still felt a sense of sorrow over the mousemaid's death. "No," she said, voice quiet. Then louder, "No way did I kill her."

"What about Flynn?" Quincy interjected, sounding unusually angry. "No one's seen her around anywhere."

Kima shrugged. "She's at the bottom of the lake down in the basement."

The two woodlanders leapt to their footpaws.

"What?"

"You killed her?"

Kima giggled and pulled out a weathered gold coin. "Maybe I didn't and maybe I did. How about heads, I killed her and tails, she killed herself?" She was on thin ice now, and she knew it, but she just couldn't bring herself to care. Flipping the coin into the air, the wildcat caught it mid-toss, slapped it onto her arm, and glanced at it. "Yep. Looks like I killed her."

"That can't be decided by chance!" Rhea roared.

_This could be it._ Kima folded her arms across her chest, hiding her extended claws. Cocking her head to the side, she locked gazes with Rhea. Her grin was wide, cheery, and quite mad. "What're you going to do about it?"


	49. Take Off Your Mask

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 47. Take Off Your Disguise  
**

_by Biara  
_

Biara wiped her paws off on her cloak, mulling over the events of the last few days.

She was trapped in some silly castle by a mad owl, and the company he had chosen for her was at least half as mad. Both Kima and Saveaux were intent on not only being sick, but getting themselves into constant trouble. Desmond had proven himself to be somewhat less than intolerable. Nallmian was a dependable ally if not in love with the sound of his own voice. Two of the guests had met unfortunate and suspicious accidents. She had killed one servant and been attacked by three, one of which had nearly done away with one of her patients in the process.

But worst of all, she was halfway out of her favorite kind of tea. It was infuriating.

Biara slid a claw along the edge of her scalpel blade, watching Saveaux as he gingerly sipped his tea. She felt a little something, but came to the conclusion that it had to be simply pity.

And Saveaux would have suffered more if that idiotic stripedog had her way. The pine marten snorted. Like Rhea knew anything other than blundering about and making a big mess; in other words, being a badger. The hare wasn't much better, acting so kind and thoughtful, like he really cared about what Saveaux thought. _It doesn't matter anway,_ the marteness thought smugly, grinning at Saveaux, _he would never choose to stay with those stupid woodlanders, even if they knew the first thing about medicine. It's illogical._

Saveaux's coughing was lessening, and the newt soon curled up in his water trough and closed his eyes. Feeling somewhat contented, Biara strode outside. No sooner had she closed the door when she heard somebeast padding up behind her.

"So, how is the little guy?" Nallmian's voice was distinct.

"You know," Biara said with a small grin, turning from to face the stoat, "you really should think twice before sneaking up on somebeast without as much as a 'how-do-you-do.' It's poor manners."

Nallmian returned the grin. "Trust me; I waited until your paws were away from that bag." His gaze hardened a bit. "But seriously, what about Saveaux?"

"He's resting now, but…" Biara rubbed irritably at her scar. "If anything, his throat is just getting worse. He can barely talk, and it sounds simply excruciating. I gave him some mint crushed into a sleeping salve, but it's impossible to tell how it's working when my patient can't even speak to me." The marten snorted. "After all my hard work, that squirrel had to ruin it."

Leaning against the wall, Nallmian appealed to his companion. "Look at it this way; not only is Jerry's face ruined in compensation, but if all goes well, our little friend Agatha's going to ruin his life too." He smirked. "I'd say we're set to win this little game of ours. And if there's anybeast who can help our amphibian pal, it's you."

Biara nodded cordially. "Speaking of which, I've been thinking about that." She gestured Nallmian away from the door, and the two conspirators set off down the hallway. "Agatha, that is. If we're to find her, we should start looking now. There's bound to be more than one rat serving the Professor." A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Although we've got one less to worry about since yesterday, at least."

Nallmian nodded in agreement. "You're right. Rats are usually two a copper in any horde, and I'm sure it's not much different here."

"Right," Biara added, "and somehow I doubt she's got 'Agatha' written across her forehead." She stopped at the entrance to the stairwell and glanced toward Nallmian. "So, any suggestions on where to start?"

The stoat shrugged. "We could cover more ground if we split up, but it doesn't take a genius to spot the flaw in that plan."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to start from here," Biara said simply, brushing the stone floor emphatically with her tail.

Nallmian squinted, peering down the length of the hallway. "Why don't we search the library first?"

Biara did her best not to wrinkle her nose. "I guess we might as well." Nallmian gave her a quizzical glance, and she smiled cheerfully back. "Well, are we going to stand around all day, or are we going to find ourselves a rattess?"

--

No sooner had the two vermin ventured into the library when the scent of ancient books pounced on Biara, forcing the pine marten to sneeze. If she hadn't been busy, she would have gladly returned the favor in full by abusing the nearest book. An encyclopedia would be lovely. She'd break its spine and maybe rip out a page or two for bothering her so. Libraries were so very stuffy; she couldn't stand them. The first day she'd managed to liberate a few of the more interesting looking titles on herbology, at least.

Biara quit giving the bookshelf the evil eye when she realized that Nallmian was several paces ahead of her, checking in between the aisles. The tall marten made her way to the end of the row, which was marked, strangely enough, by a toppled bookshelf. Devoid of any actual books, the fallen shelf seemed dreadfully out of place amongst its immaculate otherwise identical counterparts. Biara focused on the coppery scent still lingering in the air, disappointed that there wasn't anything more. Blood told a magnificent story, and it was dreadfully rude of the servants to clean it up when they couldn't even right their own fallen furniture.

Decidedly frustrated, Biara stalked away from the fallen bookshelf and began searching. However, she found nothing else of any particular interest and by the time she met up again with Nallmian at the center of the library, it seemed that there were simply no other beasts present.

The medic was about to suggest leaving, but a movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to turn. Standing calmly in front of the shelf directly across from the fireplace was a rat with a book in her paws. Biara nudged Nallmian, and the stoat and the marten exchanged grins. "Good eye, sniper," he whispered. "Now let's see if this is our beast."

The vermin strolled over to the rattess. Nallmian cleared his throat loudly. "Hello there, Agatha."

To her credit, the rat didn't even flinch at the sudden voices from behind. For that matter, she didn't even look up from the book. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Actually," Biara said, angling her ears forward, "I believe there is something we can help you with."

"Oh, really." The rattess glanced up from the book, not at all amused. "By the way, that was quite a clever move of yours at the ball, Miss Biara."

Nallmian crossed his arms over his chest. "Who's to say it was her?"

Agatha just twitched her whiskers. "Come, now. Biara is the only one among you with the knowledge of using those herbs. And neither of you were present for the entirety of the ball itself. No doubt you had some snooping to attend to, is that it?" The rattess' gaze flickered back to the words on the page. "There's nothing you'd have learned that I don't know already. If there's nothing else I can assist you with, then do kindly leave me to my reading."

_By the claw!_ Biara's knife paw twitched longingly, and she glanced to Nallmian. However, the stoat simply shrugged. "Well, that's a crying shame. A great help you lot have been. Nobeast was offering any assistance while we were fighting Jeremy."

Agatha looked up immediately. "… Pardon me for asking," she said, slowly, "but why exactly were you fighting with the Head Servant?"

"Oh, no reason in particular." Nallmian suddenly snapped his claws, "Oh wait, that's right! He kidnapped one of the other guests, was torturing him, and was planning on killing him!" Agatha's ears stood straight up as the stoat continued. "He very nearly would have gotten away with it if we hadn't arrived when we did."

"Atrocious service, really," Biara chided, shaking her head. "He even had four of his servants attack us. Hardly fair, if you ask me."

Agatha closed the book. "You expect me to believe that? The very idea that Jeremy would not only defy direct orders from the Professor, but also be so stupid enough as to be caught and beaten by the two of you?" She snorted. "The very idea is laughable."

"Believe what you like," Biara said, "but this is the truth. Did you see Jeremy at all yesterday? He wasn't at the ball. And neither was Saveaux for that matter. A terribly strange coincidence, isn't it?"

Nallmian was quick to add his bit as well. "If you want proof, then go have a look at him yourself. Let's just say that squirrels aren't partial to fire."

Agatha looked from Nallmian to Biara. "And why are you telling me this?"

"We heard from a reliable source that you and the squirrel aren't exactly on the best of terms," Nallmian said.

Agatha nodded thoughtfully. "So you two were the ones behind Bernard and Dustin. I figured as much, of course. And that would explain why Jeremy would be after you."

Biara stepped in. "Right, but he couldn't even do that correctly. Imagine what the Professor would think if he heard about that."

The rattess didn't look convinced. "And I'm quite sure the two of you are just so filled with concern for my success and well-being. If you're expecting cake and favors when all this is over, then you're sadly mistaken."

"Not at all," Biara said. "The Professor himself stated that this little game is to be between us guests only, and Jeremy's attempts on our life may very well continue as soon as he recovers." She cocked her head. "You know, I'm sure could even send his servants after us even while he's still healing. I've noticed that there seems to be a decided lack of servants with any medical training around."

Although the rattess was doing her best to keep her expression blank, Biara could almost see the indecision dancing right behind her eyes. "I don't think he would be so bold as to directly attack you, but he's not likely to let it go so easily, either…" At length, Agatha sighed and placed her book carefully back into its place on the shelf. "Fine. I'm not promising you anything, but I will look into this further."

Biara nodded courteously, "Thank you for listening, Miss Agatha."

"Save your thanks," Agatha said, curtly. "My only duty is to make sure the Professor's orders are carried out." However, as she walked past Biara, she leaned in close. "It might do you well to explore the museum," she whispered. "You might very well find a useful killing tool there." Before the healer could respond, Agatha had strode past and was on her way out of the library.

Nallmian wrinkled his nose. "If she stuck her nose any higher in the air, we'd be able to escape through the hole cut in the ceiling." He glanced curiously at his companion. "What was all that about, anyway?"

"Looks like we've got some more exploring to do," Biara said cheerfully. "No use staying here any longer, at least."

--

No sooner had Nallmian and Biara left the library when the tall marten spotted Desmond descend the last few steps and walk briskly out of the stairwell. As soon as Desmond spotted the vermin, he hastened to join them.

"I talked to Jeremy," he announced. "I don't know how much he believed me – my goodness, you didn't muck about when you set him alight, did you?"

Biara played the fight over in her head. It was a shame about her damson wine, but she had to admire the sheer damage that had been inflicted. Cuts, glass shards, and burns; brilliant! And she had worked on burned beasts before. The marteness smiled to herself. "Yes, I imagine he must have looked dreadful. Burns are ever so excruciating, you know. Have a nasty habit of getting infected, too."

Biara blinked at the sudden, throbbing pain in her shoulder. _Oh, of course._ One of the servants (she fancied it was the rat) had managed to give her a good slash. She had done her best to clean it, and her dark cloak had hidden the bloodstains quite nicely, but it was going to need more work. The marten sighed; self surgery was hardly satisfying, but then again, neither was infection.

The healer cleared her throat, dipping her head courteously. "Pardon me, but I really should be having a look at Kima. Considering her run of luck, she's probably broken a bone by now." _And wouldn't that be something?_ Desmond nodded somewhat distractedly, while Nallmian looked a little more skeptical.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Maybe it's better if one of us went with you."

Before Desmond had time to protest, Biara laughed. "Don't be silly. I doubt Jeremy would try the same trick twice, and besides, I'm just a bit better equipped to defend myself than a newt."

That seemed to settle the stoat somewhat. "Alright, then. Come on, Desmond, time to compare notes!"

--

To her credit, Biara had only been half lying.

The marteness _had_ briefly returned to her room to fetch her herbs, but could it be blamed that Kima hadn't answered her door, and that the museum just so happened to be a little walk away?

Granted, it might have helped if Biara had actually knocked on Kima's door, but that was irrelevant.

Although the grandfather clock directly across from the museum entrance stated that it was eventide, this particular section of the castle was nearly engulfed in darkness, and the shadows cast by the torches made it appear much later. Biara rather liked the dark, though, and especially relished the chance to be alone. It was a pleasant change to not have to be subjected to endless quips and sarcastic commentary on everything. It seemed to the marten as if Nallmian was afraid of silence.

_Maybe he is._

Biara remembered how the stoat had thrashed about in his sleep, how completely off-guard he had been when awoken. He had looked trapped. Just like Biara herself had felt after she had explored his room and found the brown powder. Biara stopped in her tracks. _Oh. Well, that explains a lot._

Although there was some pity for the stoat, it was nearly overwhelmed by curiosity. What would cause a beast like Nallmian such mental stress? Was it because of his line of work? Biara knew it wouldn't stop dancing in the corner of her mind until she figured it out, whether the stoat wanted it known or not.

The medic sniffed at another counter, this one holding what looked to be the skull and hide of a wolf... or was it a fox? The metal hooks in place of claws looked like they might be interesting weapons, but the thing certainly wasn't what she would call a killing tool. It probably smelled terrible as well. Wrinkling her nose, the tall marten slunk down a corridor flanked with tapestries depicting portraits of various badger nobles, their brows creased in permanent scowls.

And then, Biara found herself abruptly at the end of the corridor, which would have been a rather nondescript dead-end if not for a bejeweled casket. The marteness stalked back and forth in front of the massive construct, only to nearly trip when one of the stones sunk into the floor with a soft click. She looked around, but it didn't appear that the stone had actually triggered anything. Frustrated, Biara prodded the casket, but to no avail; the structure remained solid, and the armor-clad badger decorating it might as well have been openly mocking her. _'Gates, why did it have to be badgers?_

Biara aimed a frustrated, but half-hearted kick at the thing. There was another muted click as one of the jewels sunk into the construct and the marteness ducked down instinctively, holding her paws over her head. Nothing happened. Ears flicking forward hopefully, the marten got a grip on a solid portion and pushed. The casket swung open, pitching Biara forward with a yelp. She scurried back behind the door, peering into the pitch darkness beyond the new-found door. The healer felt doubt coiling uncomfortably in her throat. "I'm walking right into a trap, aren't I?" Despite herself, Biara grabbed a torch off the wall and took a tentative step inside the hallway. _At least there aren't any spiders._

The hallway was rather short, and very soon ended at what appeared to be a plain wall with a scrap of parchment pinned to it. Leaning down, Biara moved the torch a little closer, reading the message aloud. "Tombstone... tell it to kill and it will." The marteness straightened. "How quaint. But tell... what..." Biara looked up... and up until she was staring into the dark muddy eyes of a great male badger. "Oh 'Gates..."

It looked back at her. With a shocked yell, Biara grabbed wildly for one of her knives and nearly dropped her torch, but then realized that the beast wasn't moving to attack, or even speaking for that matter. Agatha's words wandered vaguely into her mind. _A useful killing tool._ The tall marten was literally dwarfed by the creature, and it would have taken just one swipe from those massive paws to send her airborn. And yet she couldn't stop the goofy, intoxicated grin from stretching across her face. _He's an assassin._

_Dodge. Parry. Thrust._

The little marten's footpaws rapped a light tattoo on the armory floor as she skipped expertly, eyes trained straight ahead.

Feint. Parry.

Her coach was saying something as he moved in, but it didn't particularly matter. The old rat talked entirely too much.

Jab. And…

Screaming.

A miscalculation. The saber fell from her nerveless grasp with a clatter. Already several of the castle servants were rushing in. Everybeast was yelling. And the blood. Spattered on the stones, her blade.

The marten's heart gave the smallest of shudders.

"'Gates! Somebeast steady the maid! She's teetering!"

She was grasped by strong paws. "Are you all right, lass?"

"I…" She tried to form the right words, but all she could see was steel piercing flesh over and over again. It was so sudden. So easy.

Her coach was gasping. He was okay, really, he would be fine if everybeast would only stop fussing, but…

The blood was still pooling and she wanted ever so much just to touch it. To make more of it.

More voices. She recognized her father, vaguely. "What happened? Is she unharmed?"

"Aye, sire. She's in shock, though, the poor thing."

"Somebeast call the medic!"

She felt herself being half-led, half-dragged away. Her heart lurched. She didn't want to go. She might never feel again.

There was a voice from somewhere far away. "So, looks as if the little puppet has a heart after all. I was starting to worry."

_Puppet._ Such a quaint little nickname.

Did this creature feel the same when he spilled blood? Did the emptiness disappear only when he was cutting into a beast's skin and feeling the life underneath?

Biara grinned. Perhaps she didn't have to hate _all_ badgers.

--

By the time Biara had left the Badger chamber, she could feel the pain flaring up in her shoulder. She'd need to take care of that soon or else it would just get worse. Something crashed behind her, and the marteness jumped, her tail bottlebrushed. Whirling around, drawing her scalpel and half-expecting to see the badger thundering towards her, the healer relaxed when, instead, she found herself facing a decidedly guilty-looking Saveaux looking up at her from where he had tripped. Biara sighed, putting the blade away and reaching forward to help the newt to his feet.

"And to think they say that curiosity kills the _cat_. Just what am I going to do with you?"


	50. Time is Running Out

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 48. Time is Running Out  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

_'Tis but scoundrels and fools that lie,_ he thought, reflecting on how he denied knowing anything about the perished mole. He was unable to rest, though he needed it.

_Still,_ he answered himself, _If my debt should be repaid, the most efficient time is the present, lest the debt interfere with matters more pressing_

Indeed, it was the same reason Saveaux had refused Quincy's offer. He literally felt torn in half when the hare had gotten on bended knee, asking if he would like to join them rather than stay with the increasingly more radical mustlids. Behind the hare's eyes, he could see Quincy secretly pleading despite claiming to leave it up to the newt to decide. To refuse was painful, but to have switched sides and betrayed them that he owed a debt would have scored a deeper wound still.

Besides, the lie had been small to be sure; it could barely be considered a lie as he had not said anything. Perhaps it would benefit more than harm; bickering amongst groups now would only lead to more tragedy. Lie or no, though, they seven were still separate, a fact that should soon change. The best way to do so, reasoned Saveaux, was to have a common goal, something that they already possessed; everybeast wanted to escape the castle. Then, he further reasoned, what they needed now was a common target.

The front gates were sealed. The castle had no windows from what he could remember – he had not thoroughly examined the grounds from the outside when he arrived and now regretted it. He knew there were three floors above ground and one below, and while it would be tempting to look in the basement for an exit, he reasoned that Faliss would not hide one in such an obvious place. That aside, the only way an exit could be made through the basement would be through extensive tunneling, something he doubted the castle's founder would have done what with his obsession for making sure nobeast left. Indeed, the badger king's paranoia must have been much progressed even at the time of the castle's construction, what with the hidden room in which he had been held captive and, according to Jeremy, more concealed watching places scattered about the castle.

Saveaux's eyes widened. He snatched his cloak and canteens, venturing out of his room toward the library.

A fallen shelf greeted him on his arrival, entirely bare of books. The inevitable questions filtered through his mind, soon met with a memory and an answer – the body had been there.

He had spoken to her, before the world went mad. She had told him her name, seemed mildly intrigued when he told her he was a writer, then drifted off into whatever void her mind had wandered to each time she stared into space. He remembered now how she had treated the ordeal as a game, attempting to boost morale by putting on a happy face.

Nobeast had spoken about her. Even Kima, who had been at the scene, was suspiciously silent. They all referred to her thereafter as the body; did they move the body? Where is the body? She had gone from a happy mousemaid to a captive to an It. The body; she had a name.

"R-r-aaaaaaainNn." Saveaux whispered. His throat and eyes stung and soon the pain from trying to speak caused tears to leak from his eyes. The newt turned, scraping the rough cloak across his damp lids, and turned his attention to the other shelves.  
He found the volume moments later, exited the room, unsure as to whether or not he would ever venture back. Yet his eyes turned and gave the toppled shelf a last despairing look.

_Farewell._

Saveaux tapped so weakly against the door that he feared the stoat would be unable to hear. Still, reservations were allayed as the door opened to reveal Nallmian.

"Hello, Saveaux," Said the stoat, sounding as though he had woken from a drugged slumber.

Nallmian's weary eyes darted to the newt's side, no doubt noting that Saveaux had brought his javelin with him.

"Can never be too careful," Nallmian said. "Come in."

Saveaux was not happy with the stoat's behavior. Granted, they had had to keep it a secret that the mole found dead in Desmond's room had been their doing, but the further abrasive behavior towards Quincy had been unnecessary. Saveaux had not pressed the matter then as he was physically unable. Neither was he going to press it now; Nallmian would undoubtedly verbally berate him as well as soon as the newt said something. Luckily for Saveaux, his focus, coupled with the further damage to his vocal chords, muted the growl forming in his throat.

Nallmian ushered the newt in, closing and bolting his door once he was across the threshold. The stoat bee-lined to the writing desk at the side of his room, leaving his back exposed to Saveaux for a moment. The newt swallowed, grip tightening on his javelin.

Nallmian turned about, moving something about his cheeks. His eyes were suddenly wide, pupils having shrunk to an alarming size. The stoat let out a short exhalation. Saveaux remembered Nallmian demonstrating similar behavior just after they were separated into groups, when the stoat had placed a pinch of that mysterious brown powder in the pouch of his cheek. The newt spied a small sack atop the writing desk just behind Nallmian, and noted its location.

"So, what brings the scaly academic to my humble abode this evening, eh?"

Saveaux shifted his weight, pointing a finger at his throat.

Nallmian rolled his eyes. "Ah, right, that little problem."

The stoat sighed, crossed the room to a chair below a small painted landscape. Saveaux followed virtually on Nallmian's heels, a small voice in his head noting each time the stoat let him out of eyesight.

"In that case," said the stoat, sitting with his back to Saveaux, "Can you show me?"

Saveaux grumbled. Nallmian turned his head to find the newt holding the javelin in both hands, tip aimed high. Before the stoat could bring himself fully about, the newt jabbed and slashed through the landscape painting one and a half feet above Nallmian's head. The stoat turned back around, surprised to find a small slit in the wall behind the painting, just big enough for a beast to peak out of.

"That must be how they were watching us." Nallmian gave a short bark of astonishment. "Well, can't say I'm surprised but, well, actually, I am surprised. I had a hunch they had some way of spying on us in our rooms, it just never occurred to me to go around wrecking the décor to find it. Do you know if there's any more?"

Saveaux walked over to the mirror at his left and tapped it, playing the gesture off as though he were dusting a smudge. He then produced from his belt the volume he had found in the library and handed it to Nallmian.

"Concealment." The stoat read the title aloud.

Saveaux padded closer to Nallmian, taking the book back and turning it to the appropriate page. His finger guided Nallmian's eye.

_...several methods of which can be employed simply by a trick of light. For example, a mirror pane, made slightly transparent, can be made to look wholly as a mirror when inserted into a wall at an opening from which there is no light on one side. In this way, an observer on the unlit side can spy on the actions of a beast on the lit side while avoiding detection._

Nallmian looked at the mirror as though it would attack him. He moved back to the desk, snatching parchment and a loaded quill. He turned his back on the mirror as he wrote,

We should write; they can't hear behind all of that stone, but I think they can read lips. This is the least suspicious way. So, that would mean that there's an entire room back there, hidden behind the wall?

The paper and quill were handed to Saveaux, who began to jot down his response. The newt ignored the rolling eyes Nallmian gave him as he took extra time to make sure his long hand was neat.

Most indubitably. Mayhap, even, there are other corridors concealed behind the beguiling glass pane, an entire network hidden from view.

Nallmian took back the paper, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a chuckle as he read. He wrote his response,

So you suggest we use that to escape? Write faster this time!

Saveaux groaned as he read the stoat's final note, continuing to grumble at how unkempt his writing looked as he scrawled, Yes. We need Biara. I shall go find her.

Nallmian read the note and nodded. He jerked his head over his shoulder towards the mirror and gave a reassuring smile, telling the newt that he would block off the mirror inconspicuously before he got back – of course, that was only what Saveaux surmised. Quite in fact, the stoat could be planning to very non-discretely smash in the pane and attack the watchers behind, but Saveaux doubted he would do something that foolhardy, not when it could jeopardize an escape.

"What am I going to do with you?"

Newts could not blush, but Saveaux still half-hid his face in his chest, chin down turned like a scolded child. Before she could ask the question lingering on her lips, Saveaux creaked a response, "Nal-nnnalmIaaan…r-roomMm…G-oh."

They walked together to the stoat's room in silence, neither of them mentioning what had been in the museum. Saveaux was unable to speak much and even if he was, he was determined not to speak the reasons he had followed Biara, why he kept close watch on her as she found the hidden room, what that monstrous thing within was. In turn, Biara asked no questions and for that, Saveaux was grateful.

The pair arrived at Nallmian's quarters, seeing that a coat had been hung on the mirror.

"We should be safe now," said the stoat, "They can't see us and through walls that thick, I doubt they can hear us. Only reason I had us write earlier was because having us both talk while facing away from the mirror would have looked too suspicious. Still," Nallmian tossed the newt the paper and pen again, "Thought you would want this."

"They're watching us from the mirrors?" Biara asked.

The stoat nodded. "Saveaux found a book in the library that gave directions on how to rig up a false mirror. He showed me that right after he showed me the spy-hole in the wall behind that painting." He motioned with his thumb to said destroyed artwork, now obscured with a cloak. "Don't see why I didn't think of it; there's more mirrors in this castle than anything else, I mean, they're everywhere. The things Faliss was able to see…"

"A maniac and a pervert; the good professor is definitely trying his hardest to flesh out his resume," Biara quipped. "Now, what is the plan?"

Saveaux began to write a response on his paper.

"I'm guessing we arm up, break the mirror open and finish off whoever's behind it. Saveaux reasoned that the room back there probably leads to a network of passages that could lead to a way out of here," answered Nallmian.

Saveaux scraped out his partially written response, beginning to write another sentence.

"Simple enough," said Biara, nodding with a claw on her cheek. "We might not be enough, though. We don't know how many are back there, and if there's one that can fight as well as Jeremy, let's just say I'm short one bottle of damson wine this time."

"I thought that too, but we're the only two, no offense, Saveaux, who can fight in this castle, unless you want to go ask Sergeant Pussywillow to come out of retirement."

Saveaux drew a line through what he had just written and began a third time, stabbing into the paper as his quill moved like a claw over an itch.

"Flynn's out of the question; I'd wager she'd refuse to help us even if it did mean escaping," reasoned Biara.

Saveaux tapped his foot against the stones bellow.

"Rhea as well," continued the marteness, "I don't want to ask her for any favors."

The newt began to growl at the back of his throat.

"That leaves Kima and Desmond," added Nallmian, oblivious to Saveaux's jumping in the background, paper held high. "Desmond'll help if we can convince him it's in his best interest, and telling him that we could get out of the castle could work. Trouble is, I doubt he can fight. Kima, though, OW!"

Saveaux's foot hurt from kicking Nallmian's shin, but at least his efforts had paid off, as the two were now paying attention to him. Biara looked down at the note. On the first line, written in neat long hand but partially obscured by a black x, was written, I propose we shatter the concealing pane and valiantly charge with

The next line, this one with a black mark through it, read, We should take heed, though, for our foes may be quite venerab

The last line was hastily written in a style resembling a small child and had no edit marks. It read, Must recruit others, tell about escape, get everybeast out, no killing. The words "everybeast," "no," and "killing" were all underlined.

Biara looked down at Saveaux. Already he could hear the condescending undertones. "Saveaux, getting everybeast organized will take too much time, more than what we have,"

Saveaux began writing again, quill scouring the paper as it began to run out of ink.

"And, furthermore, we can't try to get out of here without killing anybeast; it won't work. They're loyal to Faliss and they won't get out of our way just because we tell them to. It's either them or-"

Biara jumped as the note was thrust before her eyes.

Madam, cease treating me as a child. Furthermore-

He withdrew the paper to finish his thought. Nallmian attempted to break the momentary silence, but was stopped by Saveaux's raised hand, further deterred when he saw the white-hot expression of frustration on the newt's features.

We need them. We were all brought, nay, forced into this trap together and so must exit. We shall need to pool from their strength in order to survive, for alone we are weak. And we must leave the servants alone, for they are just as trapped as we are.

Nallmian chuckled. "Not going to happen, because, first of all, the others don't like us. Once a woodlander gets it in his mind to not like you, they'll fight you even if it means they die."

_How can you presume to know so much when you are not a woodlander yourself? Why should they all conform to your notions as to how the world should function?_

The dried quill did not write these thoughts. How Saveaux wished for a well of ink and a swifter hand.

Biara spoke next. "Escaping without killing the servants is impossible. They will try to kill us. They tried to kill you." There was an edge in her voice that was absent before, as if somebeast had removed extra padding from her words to expose the rigid skeleton beneath.

Saveaux remained as adamant as that skeleton. "Nn-oo…K-kk…KkK…K-i-llLLLll!"

"Saveaux,"

_"N-OooOO…K-K-i-K…i-iLll!"_ He gasped for air. Saveaux expected Biara to cross to assist him, but she did not. "P-o…nt-T…l…es…k-i-Lll," he added, then, as if it settled the matter entirely, "L-i…s…ssss…ennnnn…"

Saveaux exited unhindered by either of the mustlids. He abruptly retired to his room, wrapping himself thick in the blankets on the bed. Saveaux closed his eyes, dreamed. There was a wall and a mirror inset in it, with two images visible, one closer, and one further away, as though the mirror was a transparent barrier separating the two planes. On the side closest him was a reflection of himself and two figures behind, both with their paws on his shoulders, restraining his movement. Behind, further still, was a pair of wide eyes, aged, yet ever vigilant. Behind the glass in a green field were Quincy, Rhea, Kima, Desmond and Flynn; further away were Raine and Sootpaws; even further behind them was a hedgehog's silhouette. In the dream, Saveaux reached out a hand to join those on the other side, but was met with immovable glass, and the arms pulling at either of his shoulders. All the while, the eyes watched, unblinking. They bore into Saveaux, scrutinizing each part of him. He felt those eyes devour him and, even when awake and safe from the dream the next day, could still feel the eyes on him, staring.


	51. The Road Not Taken

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 49. The Road Not Taken  
**

_by Rhea  
_

The sun might have been setting in the east that evening, though Rhea would have had no way of knowing it. It seemed an ordinary day—as ordinary as any could have been in the castle. No signs, no portents, just the cat's unconcerned query hanging in the air.

Beyond coherence, Rhea bristled. "Why?" she finally blurted.

"Don't have to tell you that, do I?"

"It might save your life."

"Rhea—" Quincy began.

But it seemed too late for his ideals to be of much use. "Get out of here. Get out of here and find Biara. See if she knows any way to take care of mad beasts."

"With all due respect, Lady Rhea, I don't think staying here alone with Kima is a very good idea."

Rhea glanced around the dining hall. A servant mouse was eating alone, a weapon glittering at his belt. He was small enough to be overpowered, if it came to that. "I'll be fine. Just go. There are things you don't need to see."

"Run away," Kima giggled in a sing-song tone. "We'll play another day."

Quincy glanced between their faces—madness on one, grim resolution on the other—and dashed out of the hall.

Rhea rose too, edging towards the lone mouse. Kima watched her for several moments, then bounded from her seat. "Can I go chase him now?"

Almost sadly, Rhea shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Aww," the cat mocked.

"Give me that." Rhea lowered her voice as she addressed the mouse, though it made no difference. She glared at his paws, making no attempt to recognize his face. Confused, he handed over his half-eaten meal. "Not that!" She flung it back onto the plate. "Your dagger."

The weapon duly procured, she advanced on Kima. "What can you tell me about Flynn?"

"Did you know Quincy's going to escape tomorrow?"

Nonplussed, Rhea halted. "What?"

"I'm coming with him, if he'll let me."

And as quickly as her hopes had soared, they retreated. Kima truly was mad.

That only complicated things further, of course. Justice was easy to formulate in the abstract, and at last she had the chance for revenge upon a vermin murderer. With the Professor's ultimatum, surely nobeast would think any worse of her? But someone too blind to know what she was doing didn't deserve execution.

Except...

Except if Kima didn't know what she was doing, how could she have confessed to it?

"Don't expect me to pity you. You brought this upon yourself."

Rhea advanced, eyes seemingly fixated on a point obscured by the cat's face. Kima dodged at the last moment as Rhea struck, and the flat of the dagger caught her across her face. Wincing, she leapt backwards, Rhea a pace behind.

"W-wait! I, I can explain, I didn't kill her, please—"

No, thought Rhea, Kima wasn't mad. She was simply a murderer and, in the end, a blabbering coward. The badger had nothing to say, and no need to speak. The sooner things were over, the better.

She approached the cat, who spun and started running. Rhea followed behind, but her target's desperation let her surge ahead, tearing out of the dining hall and into the broader castle.

Kima turned tightly, and Rhea barreled along. If she could force her into the stairwell...though if she wasn't mad, she'd know to stay out of anywhere too narrow.

Rhea stepped into the dusty bedroom she'd discovered early on, back when Kima had seemed her greatest ally. There was no sign of any other creature in the room.

The badger returned to the clearer air of the hallway, and the stairs seemed less steep as she ascended them. Each step led so naturally to the one after it—leaving Salamandastron, hearing of the "wolf's" tyranny, meeting the other guests, Kima's laughter in the dining hall. The chains of honor and the manacles of justice buoyed her path, and by the time she reached the top of the stairs, momentum carried her forward at a run, the dagger tight in her paw.

She heard somebeast speaking nearby, but didn't pause until the second "R-Rhea?"

"What is it?" She turned around, noticing Desmond. Not expecting him to be of much use, but not ruling out the possibility, she asked, "Kima didn't come through here, did she?"

"Kima?" Desmond nervously glanced around. "She—yes. Yes, she did."

Pleasantly surprised, Rhea relaxed. "Oh? Where did she go?"

"This way." Desmond beckoned her forward. She followed eagerly, into what seemed an elegant gallery. Paintings hung on the walls: in the largest, a ragtag woodland army celebrated among the more numerous, and seemingly more competent, corpses of their vermin counterparts. A mirror too hung on the wall, rimmed with ornate metal. There was a landscape of the northern mountains, though without the snow she associated with them, and a portrait of a young badger cub who smiled innocently at her.

Rhea tore her eyes away, frustrated at herself—she was there for vengeance, not to stare at some flat pictures. But that vengeance was proving remarkably hard to come by. There weren't even statues to seek refuge behind.

"You can't hide forever!" she thundered, whirling to face Desmond with dagger at the ready. "Well? Where is she?"

"Um..." he stammered.

Rhea marched towards the door, Desmond hastily following. He squirmed nervously in the corner behind her, and Rhea remembered his evasiveness the last two times she'd tried to talk to him. "And give me a straight answer, if you even know at all."

Desmond shoved her away, and she careened off-balance. The dagger slipped from her grip, and she felt a dull pain in her chest.

Beguilingly soft paws pushed her to the floor. She strove to rise, but her footpaws refused to submit to her control. Desmond's silhouette faded into a blur until it was no more or less real than the deep, rolling laughter that seemed to mock her from just outside the walls, if she could only reach it. But there couldn't be any—

Even if Joshua had been the next beast to walk through the gallery door, he would not have gotten his dagger back. But he replaced it in time, and if Rhea had ever found something worth resisting in the castle, he never learned of it.

end of round four.


	52. The Sky Is Round, The World Is Flat

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of round five.

**Chapter 50. The Sky Is Round, The World Is Flat  
**

_by Desmond  
_

There was blood on his shirt. Desmond noticed it vaguely, as if in a dream – how it smelled metallic and bitter, how it made the fine cloth stick to his fur, how it made him lightheaded and nauseous.

It was merely _interesting._

Rhea – dead on the floor, blood leaking lazily from the hole in her heart. His paws – sticky and scarlet with blood. How pungent…

_His paws_. How had they killed her?

…Ah. The dagger.

His right paw was still frozen around the hilt of the weapon. Biara had given it to him, assuring him that it was merely a precaution – there would be no need of his using it. They hadn't thought…

Rhea had _scared_ him. She'd acted as if she'd known, somehow, that Biara was behind one of the paintings on the wall, waiting with Nallmian for Desmond to bring Rhea to the room so they could kill the badger. He was supposed to have waited until they arrived and then keep out of the way, but when she'd threatened him with her knife, he hadn't stopped to think before he acted.

The squirrel edged toward the badger's still form and nudged her gingerly with one footpaw. He shuddered and quickly tried to wipe the footpaw clean on the floor. She was quite dead.

For a split second, he wondered if he should hide the body and then laughed aloud at the ridiculous notion. Where would he do such a thing? And besides, he was covered in blood. Somebeast was bound to wonder how it got there...

A creaking sound behind him made him turn to investigate the source of the noise, and he blinked as he recognized the marteness who was staring at him with surprise from the painting-doorway to the passage.

Biara's eyes went from Desmond to the body and back. She blinked. "Well, this certainly makes things easier."

"Didn't he bring the badger?" came Nallmian's voice, muffled by the wall; Biara was blocking the entranceway from the passage to the room and the stoat wasn't visible from the squirrel's vantage point.

"Indeed. You'd think he could have at least waited a few more moments, though." Biara stepped further into the room as Nallmian came up behind her.

Desmond cleared his throat but had no words to explain. His paw loosed its grip on the dagger of its own accord, and the weapon fell to the floor with a dull clank.

"Well." Nallmian broke the awkward silence. "So you aren't useless after all, eh?" He grinned, but Desmond saw only bared teeth. "Congratulations, Desmond. It's not everybeast who can take down a badger on their own."

The squirrel swallowed. Wordlessly, he turned his back on the vermin and stumbled to the door, exiting the room and then shutting the door behind him. He crossed the hall in a daze, making no attempt to conceal the bloodstains on his clothing. If somebeast had asked him how he'd gotten them, he probably would have replied, with a bewildered frown, "I don't know," and been telling the truth.

He hoped Nallmian and Biara hadn't followed him; he couldn't have talked to them if he'd wanted to, and they would invariably bring up the subject he most wanted to avoid.

The squirrel walked into his door with a resounding smack, stepped back, blinked, and tried again, this time turning the handle first. There was somebeast else inside. Desmond stared at the figure for a moment, frowning.

"Ah," he said, a sort of detached interest in his voice. "Emilie."

The squirrelmaid met his gaze expressionlessly, as if she didn't remember ever seeing him before. "Yes, sir. I've almost finished cleaning. I'll leave shortly."

She didn't bat an eyelash at his bloody garments.

Desmond closed the door behind him with a click, moving into the room, closer to the squirrelmaid. "No," he said coolly. "I want you to stay."

She blinked at him. "Have I failed to clean the room to your satisfaction?"

He didn't answer. She was so perfect… and so flawed. She was infuriating. He hated her.

"If I have not met your wishes, please tell me what you want…"

"Shut up," Desmond growled.

"Pardon - "

He slapped her across the face before she could finish. The blow sent her staggering away, though she didn't fall. Emilie gasped, touching her face with one paw.

"Why…?" Her voice was tinged with bewildered fear.

"Because you deserve it," Desmond snapped and hit her again, this time knocking her to the floor. She tried to crawl away from him, but he could walk faster, and the skirt of her dress tangled around her legs, imprisoning her. Desmond kicked her savagely and heard something crack; a sense of peace washed over him, but anger still burned in his chest, screaming to be released.

She was gasping for breath and whimpering, but her face was still dead. She wasn't crying.

He wanted to make her cry.

The male dragged her to her footpaws, trapping her against the wall. Her eyes were wide – she was afraid, he could tell – but she was still silent, save for the breath rasping in her throat. Desmond punched her in the face and hurt his paw for his trouble. Cursing, he hit her again.

"Cry, why don't you?!" he screamed, unaware of anything but her terrified gaze. He grasped her by the shoulders, claws extended, and shook her, slamming her against the wall. "What's wrong with you? Why won't you cry?" His voice tore at his throat as he dropped her and she fell in a crumpled, shuddering heap. He stared at her, but his vision was blurry, and it took him a minute to realize that _he_ was crying.

"Don't – don't let me see you again." He stumbled away from her, trying to block the image of her broken form. "Or I'll kill you."

He didn't _want_ to kill her, he realized, as he numbly closed his door behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes. He just wanted to go home.

*

It was time to think. He'd spent far too long simply waiting for something to happen, for somebeast to find a way out, anything. He'd helped Nallmian and Biara because they'd seemed to know what they were doing, to have a plan, but as of yet, they'd only murdered a couple of the servants – without gaining much useful information, what's more – and asked him to help them get rid of Rhea, as she was a threat to them. Only, the last one had gone horribly wrong…

Desmond considered.

Or horribly right.

What was it Falliss had said at that first dinner? Only one could leave the castle alive. Since an escape seemed unlikely, then perhaps it was time to consider the other option. He couldn't kill all of the other guests; Rhea had been unprepared for an attack, and she'd also been less than adept – she'd held her weapon awkwardly. He doubted he'd ever catch one of the others in the same position. Still… As long as he did his planning in advance, there was nothing to stop him from thinning the numbers. Particularly if doing so gave the rest of them a better chance at making it out alive…

The sound of uneven pawsteps made him look up in surprise to see Quincy limp into the lounge.

"Desmond?"

The squirrel nodded to him. "Ah, hello, Quincy." He didn't rise from the lounge armchair but gestured for the hare to take another of the seats.

"I'd rather stand," Quincy said, glancing around, as if he were afraid of their being watched. He moved close to the squirrel and bent slightly, saying in a low voice, "We're making a break for it at dawn. If you want to get out, be in the dining room before then."

Desmond frowned but kept his voice at the same level as the hare's. "Who's we? And how do I know this plan will work?"

"A friend set it up," Quincy said elusively, obviously unwilling to impart further information.

"And you want me to trust them?" Desmond murmured.

Quincy shrugged. "I do," he said firmly. "You can be there with the rest of us or not."

Desmond sighed. "It's better than waiting," he admitted and shrugged. "I'll come."

"Good." The hare stopped abruptly and frowned. "Why are you covered in blood?"

Desmond glanced down at his shirt. "Oh. That?" He groped for an explanation. "Er. I got into a scrape…" He trailed off helplessly.

Quincy's eyes widened. "Kima?" He asked. "Did she attack you, too?"

Desmond wondered if that was how Quincy had developed his mysterious limp. "…Yes. Nasty business." He grimaced. "Fortunately, I managed to get away – the others helped."

The hare nodded and then hesitated, as if unsure of what to say. "Well. I still need to talk to some of the others. I'll see you tonight." With that, he turned and left the room.

_Well_, thought Desmond. _This changes everything._

Unless it didn't work. But if it didn't, it seemed he had a good idea of which guest to take out first. Kima had attacked Quincy, that much was clear, and from the way the hare had sounded, he suspected she wouldn't hesitate to attack the others. Getting rid of her would, at the very least, buy them more time to try to find a way out – provided tonight didn't work.

…But first…

The squirrel wrinkled his nose in distaste at the nauseating stench of blood that clung to him.

A bath. A long, glorious, steaming bath. With _bubbles_.


	53. Last Exit

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 51. Last Exit  
**

_by Quincy  
_

Where was Biara when you needed her?

Quincy limped through the castle, checking each room he went by. Kima desperately needed help. The hare was shocked at the cat's sudden change in attitude. She'd always seemed nice enough. Quincy remembered the feral gleam in her eyes as she had him pinned to the floor, the sting of her fangs sinking into his flesh, unable to suppress a shudder as he did so. Clearly first appearances weren't everything.

The hare did a full search on every floor but Biara was nowhere to be found. What could she possibly do for Kima anyway, short of chaining her to a wall? The wildcat had lost her mind.

It had taken Quincy considerably longer than he had hoped to search the castle because of his wound. Eventually he decided to just go check if Rhea had been able to subdue Kima herself. The dining hall was empty, which was odd. The first guest Quincy came across was Desmond seated in the lounge. Thankfully the squirrel did not ask too many questions about the escape, because Quincy was not prepared to give anyone but Rhea straight answers about it. Kima had apparently attacked him as well, and finding the wildcat and Rhea were now his top priority.

Along the way Quincy ran into Nallmian in one of the corridors.

"What do you want, longears?"

The stoat looked rather preoccupied with something, and so Quincy didn't beat around the bush. He stepped closer to Nallmian, his heart thrumming a bit faster as he did. He had no desire to be near the dangerous creature but had to make sure they were not overheard. The stoat looked equally cautious about this turn of events.

"If you want out of this castle, be in the dining hall an hour before dawn," he murmured. "Pass the word to Biara and Saveaux."

To say the stoat looked skeptical would be quite the understatement, but at the very least he was bright enough not to go shouting about it. "And why should I believe you?" he whispered.

"All right, forget it, just stay here and rot then for all I jolly well care," the hare said, turning.

He hadn't taken more than a pace when Nallmian's voice uttered, "Fine, whatever. But if you're bluffing I'll make you wish you'd never been spawned."

"Fine, whatever," Quincy imitated, his smile hidden from Nallmian's view. That was the reaction he had hoped for. Of course, being Nallmian, it inevitably had to be followed by a threat on his life, but all the same...

He hadn't been searching for Rhea and Kima for much longer when he saw Marie, the vixen servant that had come to get him for dinner what seemed like ages ago, entering a room he had never been in before, carrying a pail and rag. Curious, Quincy followed her inside, gazing around at the paintings on the gallery walls. The place looked clean on first glance, and it wasn't until Quincy glanced at the floor that he gasped in shock.

Marie had knelt down and was dabbing a dark, sticky pool of blood with her rag.

"G-good heavens!" the hare cried. "Whose...? Who...?"

Marie turned her face toward him, her face devoid of any emotion as she said matter-of-factly, "The Professor is pleased to finally be seeing the kind of results he wanted. Lady Rhea's demise will be most beneficial to his research."

* * *

Sleep was a long time coming for Quincy Tulep.

The hare lay curled in a tight ball beneath his covers, hugging his knees tightly to his chest as if expecting to find some sort of comfort in them, something to fill the hollow, aching pit in his stomach. Lady Rhea, his friend, the only other guest he had felt any sort of connection to on entering the castle, was gone. If even she hadn't been able to subdue her murderer, what hope did he have? He knew, he _knew_ he shouldn't have left Rhea alone with Kima. The cat had murdered Rhea, there was no doubt about that. White-hot flames of anger licked at his heart, fighting a fierce battle with the grief that already weighed it down. Why couldn't it have been Rhea to go with him? Why couldn't Kima have gone to look for Desmond? Now there was a bloodthirsty wildcat on the loose that held some of the deepest secrets of the castle. How long would Jolice's family last once the other guests got ahold of that information?

But tomorrow, they would all be free. And Lady Rhea, Flynn, Raine, and Sootpaws were already free, surely in a far better place than this. They just had to be.

The thought was of little comfort to the hare, but it soothed him just enough to drift off into fitful slumber.

* * *

"Quincy, wake up."

Jolice was shaking him awake. Quincy rolled over onto his wounded leg and winced. It was sore, but at least he had managed to get the bleeding to stop last night.

"Are you all right? What happened to your leg?"

"Never mind that now," he croaked, rubbing sleep from his eyes before sliding out of bed. He'd slept in his clothes and left his packed satchel and black traveling cloak by the bed to save time. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he hastily threw on the cloak and followed Jolice to the door.

"Be absolutely silent in the hall," came the haremaid's cautioning whisper.

Quincy desperately wished to know Jolice's exact plan but knew there wasn't time to inquire. He followed her through the dark, quiet hallways, half expecting Jeremy or some other servant to leap out at them at any moment, but they arrived at the dining hall undisturbed. Althea and Vincent were already there, dressed in black cloaks with hoods drawn. They nodded to Quincy and Jolice but said nothing. Quincy followed suit, though he burned with questions.

They weren't waiting long when Kima came through the door. Quincy stiffened, but she seemed to be keeping her distance for now. Biara and Nallmian entered next, Saveaux scuttling along in their wake and blinking owlishly. The mustelids looked tired, suspicious, and distinctly annoyed. Though when Desmond came in a few moments later he seemed deeply offended at being awake at this unholy hour and gave Quincy such a glare as might kill a lesser creature. Quincy noted that at least he had decided to change out of his pajamas this time.

"What's this all about?" Nallmian whispered. "What are _they_ doing here?"

"They've set this up," Quincy whispered back.

"Well, who are they?"

"We don't have time for introductions, Nallmian," was Quincy's evasive answer.

Nallmian wasn't buying it. "If you think we're going to just trust our futures and possibly our lives to these strange servants, you've got another thing coming."

"Then _go_!" Quincy hissed. "Get out of here, stay in the castle, I told you before! You came here by choice and if you don't like it, you can _choose_ to leave us alone and let the ones that actually want to escape carry out the plan!"

Quincy couldn't decide whether Nallmian or Desmond's glare held more spite. The stoat turned to Biara and the pair held a whispered conversation. Finally they turned back to the rest of the group.

"Fine," Biara whispered. "What is this plan?"

"Simple," Jolice whispered back. "I incapacitate the guards at the gate and you follow."

"Er...but aren't there a lot of guards at the gate?" asked Desmond.

"And what d'you mean by 'incapacitate'?" asked Quincy.

Jolice nodded grimly. "There are a lot of guards, but I've been studying them. Every morning, just before dawn, they have a changing of the guard, leaving a window of about five minutes with only a token watch: one beast at the inner portcullis and two in the gatehouse. It's in those five crucial minutes that we'll make our escape. Now, as soon as I hear the guards come by, I'll go out, tell the guards I'm going to pick up something at the market that Falliss has requested, and once I get through to the gatehouse, and once the guards are all knocked unconscious," and here she gave Quincy a meaningful look, "I will whistle softly and you must follow quickly and silently. If you dawdle you could ruin the entire plan."

Nine pairs of ears perked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Jolice put a paw to her lips. Quincy held his breath as the guards passed.

When they had gone, Jolice slipped out the door and disappeared from their sight. They left the door cracked open to be able to hear her signal.

Nallmian looked as though he were about to make some snide remark about the haremaid's plan but Quincy cut him off with a vehement whisper. "If you don't like it, _leave_."

The hare looked away, ignoring Nallmian as the stoat continued to glare daggers at him. Instead, he focused on the dull shaft of light shining through the crack in the door, lending its faint glow to the dark dining hall. Jolice must be approaching the guards at the gate by now.

He heard Kima's voice speak softly behind him. "Wait a minute...where is Rhea?"

Quincy had a sudden urge to turn and give the wildcat a violent shaking. "I would think _you_ of all beasts would know where she is now, Kima," he spat.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's _dead_. And shortly after I left her alone with you. Quite the coincidence."

Quincy turned his head to glare at Kima. The wildcat did look genuinely shocked, but then again, she had looked genuinely sane before they'd left the breeding room and she'd attacked him, so there was no telling with her.

"I...I never..."

"Shut up!" Quincy hissed. "I'll deal with you once we're clear of this place, but right now the actual escaping is our biggest concern."

A soft whistle reached the hare's ears. "That's the signal, let's go!"

They filed out of the dining hall, Quincy in the lead with Althea and Vincent. As they made their way down the corridor, Quincy wondered where Jolice and her family would go, back to Salamandastron, on to Redwall Abbey or perhaps some other peaceful community. He also wondered if they'd let him travel with them, and if perhaps he could convince Saveaux to come along. But there would be plenty of time to worry about all that once they were free of the castle.

The group made its way out into the main hall. At the far end of the room, the portcullis had been raised, and Quincy could see the dark trees of Mossflower Wood beyond the open drawbridge. The hare quickened his pace, coming up to the first guard, who lay slumped against the wall beside the portcullis, a bloody lump atop his head. He could almost taste the dewy air outside.

"Ouch!"

Desmond walked straight into Vincent's back. The hare had stopped in his tracks, staring fearfully at the way out.

"Come on, old chap, let's go!" Quincy muttered, grabbing his arm.

"He's never seen the outside world," Althea explained. "Dearest, come on, it's all right, you'll be..."

Vincent continued to stare at the open doorway, his face frozen in horror. "I...I am so sorry, my love."

"What do you..."

Countless footsteps and the glow of torches illuminated the hall, casting eerie shadows on the walls all around them. Quincy whirled around. At least twenty servants had amassed in the room behind them, headed by Jeremy, his face a horrible, twisted mass of burnt flesh.

"Well, well, well, it appears we are a bit tardy," he drawled. "Vincent, you never said that your wife's whelp would actually be _attacking_ the guards."

Everyone turned to look at Vincent. The hare hung his head, staring awkwardly at his footpaws. Jeremy waved a paw and the servants broke off into two lines and began to circle the group on either side.

"Is this true?" Quincy asked.

Vincent couldn't bring himself to speak, but after a moment he gave the smallest of nods.

"Enough of this. I can't believe you even managed to get this far." Jeremy sighed almost casually. "Stop them."

_"No!"_ Quincy roared. "Run for it!"

Grabbing Althea's paw he made a break for the gate, ignoring the pains lancing through his injured leg with each step. The servants swarmed the group, quickly closing the circle and cutting off their way to the gatehouse.

Then Jolice burst from the gatehouse, whirling a stolen short sword, and slashed a servant across the back. The scene erupted into chaos. The servants tried to bring down Jolice, but complete and utter desperation lent her strength and speed as she dealt vicious blows to anyone that came too near. The other guests began to grapple with the servants, trying to force their way through. Quincy tried to pull Althea through the throng, but a mouse grabbed her other paw and a strange sort of tug-of-war began. Quincy kicked out hard with his good leg, catching the mouse in the stomach and sending him flying.

"Jolice!" he cried over the heads of the crowd. "Jolice, don't kill them, please!"

He caught a glimpse of the beleaguered haremaid through the many bodies pressing in on them all. Jolice was beside herself, her eyes bulging wildly as she shrieked between blows, "I don't care! I don't care! I hate this place! I hate them all! We're getting out and I'll kill them all if I have to!"

"Going somewhere?"

Jeremy's hideous face appeared before Quincy. He dodged Quincy's kick and smacked the hare hard in the back of the head with the flat of his dagger. Stars burst before Quincy's vision and he went down. Several servants held his limbs tight, and no matter how hard he struggled he was held fast.

Quincy heard the clatter of metal on stone, and then Jolice was screaming. "No! Noooo! Let me go! Let me go, where are you taking me?"

Her screams grew fainter and fainter until Quincy could only hear the subdued groans of the the would-be escapers behind him. The hare gazed mournfully through the thicket of legs before him. He could just see the rosy fingers of dawn caressing the treetops.

And then the drawbridge closed.


	54. The Starscream

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 52. The Starscream  
**

_by Nallmian  
_

It was a rather dispirited group of guests who found themselves trapped once more, gathered inside the dining room where they had first discovered their dire plight. After the hare had betrayed them all and the massive wave of servants had arrived to quell their attempt to flee, the guests had been hustled along back to the dining room. They had all struggled, but it had been futile, reminiscent in ways of the struggle of doomed beetles and caterpillars swept up and carried to their deaths by a massive column of ants.

Nallmian found himself feeling especially upset. Aside from the danger, discomfort and inconvenience of having been intercepted, the professional soldier in Nallmian couldn't help but feel a considerable amount of annoyance and indignation that he had placed his trust in such an incompetent leader as Quincy. The stoat's initial hope to escape had rapidly been replaced with cynicism, and then anger as it had become progressively clearer that the hare didn't know what he was doing. Especially exasperating had been his moronic insistence on trusting servants, even ones who were supposedly a different type. The hares had shown more expressiveness than other servants, to be sure, but so did Jeremy and Agatha, and that didn't make them any less hazardous. Yet despite Nallmian's attempts to point out the obvious flaw in this plan, the hare had blithely dismissed his concerns.

The long-eared idiot was slumped in a seat at the table, clearly wracked with disappointment and stress. Nallmian felt his bile rising, felt an urge to seize the fool by his lapels and throw him physically out of Nallmian's presence. If he or anybody else in the Red Ember Horde had so thoroughly botched an operation through their own stupidity by falling for an obvious trick that they had repeatedly been warned against, they would have been executed for incompetence. How DARE that effete, naïve idealogue of a lapine presume to lead them all with such idiocy? Furthermore, the stoat couldn't help but feel a certain level of anger directed at himself. From the moment the imminent failure had become obvious he should have been bolder, should have seized command away from Quincy to remedy the situation. They should have put off the escape until another night while monitoring the servants to see if they went on higher alert, thereby allowing them to test for an information leak. They could then have waited until the next night, tightly sequestered the unverified hares or even used one to distribute misinformation, and prepared incendiaries, caltrops or other countermeasures to act as a rearguard against a flanking attack by the servants. Instead, like an idiot, he had simply followed the hare. His complaints and sniping had accomplished nothing, and now the mustelid wished he could go back and drop the verbal attacks in favor of just socking the rabbit over his cloud-filled head and taking charge. But wishes didn't get anybody out of deathtraps. All he could do was try to avoid making the same mistake twice.

"Wow…I don't think they've invented a word yet for just how thoroughly BAD that idea was," Nallmian said. His tone seemed light, as it usually was, but there was a hard undertone to it that hadn't been there before, and the stoat's eyes lacked their usual wryness. His entire being had a tension to it that it hadn't had earlier. "I mean, let's think about this for a moment…you know those servants who want to kill us? Well, let's just trust those same servants on their word of honor to help us out of here! Let's go find some haremaid who wants to get her mum and her mum's new tumble out of the castle, and let's just TELL all of them about the escape plan ahead of time without making absolutely certain that they both want to go. Great plan, what could possibly go wrong?"

"Stop it, Nallmian. You're not helping the situation or anybody's mood. We're all upset, but you can help by taking this like an adult instead of a kit." Quincy was gloomy, but not broken, and when he looked at Nallmian it was a firm, authoritative glance without fear. Normally, Nallmian might have yielded to such a gaze. But not this time. Nallmian had reached the limit of his patience with the sanctimonious hare. Quincy could look down his muzzle at Nallmian all he wanted, but the stoat decided in an instant that he was not going to let the hare silence him again with any appeals to communal spirit.

"Well, you see Quincy, that's just it. I complained as soon as we found out just what it was your idiot plan was. And you told us all to just go along with it, just trust you, just get in a line like good little Long Patrol recruits and follow Quincy the Pure out of the castle." The stoat laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "And like an idiot, I went along. Swallowed my pride, closed my mouth, and followed you. We all did. We all followed you. Even as I saw the seams in your plan ripping apart, I let you continue to guide us. Well no more of that. Quincy, as one soldier to another, I think I'm going to relieve you of your shamble of a command. If you had kept the hares in the dark later, or prepared some sort of rearguard countermeasures or interrogated another servant to check for an alert or planned a diversion or done any number of other obvious safety precautions, we could be outside instead of in here. Quincy, you, for lack of a better term, are sacked."

The hare tensed, sitting up in his seat. "What are you saying, Nallmian? Fighting amongst ourselves won't solve anything, it'll make things worse. Maybe if we had all stuck together in the first place more of us would be left alive, but instead you had to go and try to be funny at the expense of—"

"NO!" Nallmian shouted, face twisting, the blood flushing hotly to his face behind brown fur. "Don't you DARE try to shift this onto me, Quincy Tulep! I'm not the reason more of us aren't alive, you are. Maybe if you knew what the hell you were doing, or had enough wits to admit that you didn't things wouldn be different, but instead you go prancing around with your big ideas and your maudlin speeches, and guests who follow you and then wind up dead." If Nallmian had retained even the tiniest iota of respect or sympathy, that iota had just burned up. Where did Quincy get the gall to imply that Nallmian had somehow carried responsibility for the deaths of guests he hardly knew and barely interacted with, but that Quincy, who had been their de facto leader, was completely innocent of any responsibility for their deaths, even though it was him and not Nallmian that they had looked to for guidance.

Quincy looked shocked. "I feel their deaths, I care about them, you just make sarcastic comments and provoke others and act like this is all some sort of joke."

"I understand that you care about their safety, Quincy, I really do," Biara said, taking a slightly more diplomatic route. "But Nallmian has a point that you should have figured out much earlier that it was a bad idea to put so much trust in the servants. You seemed so convinced that those particular servants were trustworthy, but you were very, very wrong about them, and you didn't seem to see that until after others had started to notice the danger signs."

"I...I know that Biara, I know! Seasons, do you think I don't feel foolish for not catching onto Vincent earlier?" Quincy practically choked out. "If I could go back and fix that I would." The hare laughed bitterly. "I guess in a way it does go to prove that species isn't a very good predictor of behavior. Knowing what I know now I wouldn't have trusted them so much if I could do it over again. But I can't, and I'm not going to let Nallmian pretend as though I don't care what happens to--"

"Great seasons, you mean you care about them? Well, I guess that makes it a lot easier for them to cope," Nallmian said, voice bitterly laced with sarcasm. "Let's go ask your friend Sootpaws…oh, never mind, he's dead. Or Raine, who, let us not forget, is a mousemaid…excuse me, WAS a mousemaid. Or Flynn, who was with you from the moment you did that idiotic game with the straws…oh, she's dead too. Or Rhea, Lady Rhea, the Badger Lady of Salemant or whereever it is you come from, the one who was with you since before all this start, the one who trusted you the most, who entrusted you with the duty of her safety…no, we can't ask her either. They're all dead Quincy. Does anybody else see a pattern here?"

"Is there a point here, Nallmian? Or are you just enjoying trampling the memories of the dead to score cheap rhetorical points?" Quincy's voice was tight, tense, his jaw set.

"I think you know damn well what my point is, Quincy. When creatures spend too much time around you, they have a nasty habit of ending up dead. Do you think that's coincidence?" Nallmian turned away from Quincy, looking in turn at Kima, Desmond, Biara and Saveaux. "Do any of you think it's a coincidence that while he has managed to get companion after companion killed, my original group from the drawing are all alive and well?"

Kima, who had been skulking about behind them during the escape, was nowhere to be found in the room, and so could not give an opinion. Desmond frowned slightly and looked about the room. Saveaux gave Nallmian a rather disapproving glare, but Biara was smiling, her smile bordering on a smirk. Nallmian smiled back at her before turning back to Quincy. "I don't know, Quincy, it looks like there IS a pattern here, and it doesn't say much for your leadership skills."

"Don't be ridiculous, Nallmian, do you really think everybody wants to follow you? You're part of the problem here, Nallmian. If it weren't for beasts like you, maybe there wouldn't BE such a sharp divide between species. Maybe vermin and woodlanders would be able to get along well enough that Falliss wouldn't be doing this experiment in the first place. I believe that it doesn't always have to be the way it is now, that someday there can be room for both vermin and woodlanders. What do you believe in, Nallmian? Do you believe in anything, or is life one tremendous joke to you?"

The stoat scowled contemptuously at Quincy. "Do I look like I'm laughing Quincy? If there's a joke here, then the joke's on you. You're head is so far into the clouds you can't even see the ground anymore, and time and time again it's put others in danger. Drawing lots to divide ourselves...were you trying for a silly idea, or was that all natural? What kind of idiot agrees to throw his life on the line with random companions just to prove some arcane point about how woodlanders and vermin can get along? I couldn't believe you suggested prizing chance over reason, but you did, and so…well, let's just say I would guess you didn't win very many card and dice games in the Long Patrol. And then the spectacle just now, where you put all of our lives in the paws of some random haremaid, her vapid mother and her mother's squeeze who—Surprise!—goes and betrays us to the other servants?"

Nallmian shook his head in exasperation before continuing. " Seasons, Quincy, are you DENSE? Are you just an idiot? Do you really imagine that any modern lord would just keep a bunch of captives all together in a room alone with no supervision without recruiting some of them, many of them even, as spies? Everybody knows that that's how slave revolts get started! Believe it or not, some of us vermin do read our histories and know that slave revolts are what happens when you don't have intelligence sources amongst captives. If we can figure that out, surely an owl can figure it out too."

"Well excuse me for not knowing very much about slavery, Nallmian. Woodlanders don't—" Quincy cut himself off.

Biara merely raised an eyebrow at Quincy's remark. "My, my. I'm glad you caught yourself before saying something...undiplomatic, Quincy." Desmond frowned slightly and made some mumbled remark about the business of keeping one's social inferiors in line.

"Don't think we didn't here what was on the tip of your tongue, Quincy. But at this point, who really cares? Your ideas don't work, and more importantly, you bungle every plan you make, and just being around you seems to make other guests drop like flies. Quincy Tulep, the fact of the matter is, you're just plain incompetent. And incompetence is not a luxury we can afford right now. We can debate proper administration later. Go on and believe in a better world if it helps you sleep at night Quincy. Everybody else is busy figuring out how to survive in this one." Nallmian was quieter now, calmer, the tension decreased in his muscles but still tight in his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to the library to try to find some useful information. Anybody who wants to come with me is welcome. If you want to go try to make friends with the servants again, feel free. Just don't ask the rest of us to put our lives on the line so you can play armchair philosopher."

The stoat turned and walked out of the dining hall. Biara strode after him, followed by Saveaux, who looked far more reluctant, straggling along behind the marteness, who paused in her stride and turned back towards the newt. "Come along, Saveaux. You need your rest." The newt picked up his stride and followed the marteness and the stoat. Kima wandered off on her own. Desmond did not immediately move or speak, but a few moments later left the dining hall through another door. Quincy was left alone in the suddenly quiet room, still sitting at the table. The hare gave a sad, weary sigh and rose to leave the room as well.

"Well, I'm glad that's over with. It's been coming for a long time. Maybe from the beginning." Nallmian was sitting at a table perusing some books on siege engineer, trying to figure out if a sap point could be rigged to collapse part of a wall. Saveaux had gathered a bundle of old charts and maps while Biara had carried some other various books over to the same table.

"You handled it fairly well. You're right, the hare really doesn't know what he's doing." Biara shook her head. "Woodlanders never seem to know what's good for them. "They'll tell you 'Oh, but my mother taught me this remedy' or 'I don't really NEED that procedure' and then they're dead within a few weeks. Sometimes you just have to lay down the law." The marteness' tail curled and uncurled as she spoke.

Nallmian leaned over towards Biara to see what she was reading, and smiled as he saw that it was a book on herbs and toxins. "I thought you already were quite knowledgeable about that particular subject, hmm?"

The marteness shook her head. "I'm looking for something specific. If we could find where the servants draw their food or drink from, we could do a much less funny version of my little party trick."

Nallmian's ears perked and he snapped his fingers. "That's it! Better yet...some conqueror once said a sick enemy is better than a dead one because his comrades have to take care of a sick beast. What if we just made a whole bunch of the servants violently ill? If a large enough portion got seriously sick, the others would have to care for them, distracting even more of the staff. We'd have a lot fewer of them to deal with."

"You have a point. You definitely have a point...Hmm, I think I might be able to think of something we can use. I'll find the ingredients, you just worry about what we'll be doing afterwards. It's not that difficult to prepare, but it does take a bit of time. I'll see if there's anything else here I can use as well." The two mustelids resumed their research once again.

Biara yawned, exposing sharp white fangs, and stretched, baring her claws. Nallmian looked up from his book, the fangs striking him with a thought. Generations upon generations ago, the creatures that would become stoats or martens or weasels or ferrets had danced in the moonlight, had darted through the dark and the damp of the earth, all to sink teeth like those into the warm flesh of a neck pulsing with blood vessels. Fur sleek and rich, eyes sharp and cunning, they had stopped at nothing until the warm blood of prey coated their tongues and annointed their throats. Theirs was a magnificent heritage…and yet, what ailed Kima was largely that the cat had ventured too close to a similar heritage. The stoat wondered how well those instincts served in civilized life. Did they impart the cleverness and vitality and implacability to succeed, to survive at any cost, or did they hold mustelids back, tying them too closely to those whose time had passed? Perhaps—

"Maybe you ought to go find Desmond," Biars said, bringing Nallmian out of his reverie.

"Hmm?" The stoat started just a bit.

"Desmond. As we've seen recently, he's more useful than he might seem at first. He's definitely with us and not Quincy, but we need to take full advantage of how useful he can be."

Nallmian nodded. "Yes. It would seem Desmond is more than just a pretty face."

Biara smiled wryly. "I think 'pretty' gives him too much credit, but yes, I suppose that's true. He could be useful in case the hare decides to drop his pacifism phase."

"You're right. I should go talk to him pretty soon." The stoat paused, and looked at Saveaux, who had been fixing him with a disapproving look bordering on a glare.

"You don't look too happy, Professor Amph. Is something wrong?" Nallmian asked.

The newt produced his piece of charcoal and started writing. Nallmian took the piece of parchment when he was done and read it aloud.

"That wasn't necessary. You could have told Quincy you don't think much of his plan without being so harsh and trying to turn everyone else against him. His plan went badly, but Quincy is not a bad hare. He didn't deserve that."

Nallmian sighed in frustration. "Saveaux… I couldn't just let him get away with stupidity on such a dangerous scale. He put all of us at risk because some pretty haremaid with strong arms and stronger tear ducts told him a sob story about trying to rescue her poor mother and her mother's new…" the stoat decided to use a different word than the one he had almost said "new 'close friend'. That hare would have gotten even more beasts killed if I hadn't just pulled him down a peg or two."

The newt resumed writing, his face still frowning, but becoming somewhat more relaxed as he wrote, as though merely holding the charcoal and parchment was in itself comforting. Again, Nallmian took the note and read it aloud.

"You're right that he was wrong to place unconditional trust in someone like that, but her betrayal and the failure of plan taught him that lesson more than well enough. You didn't have to continue to emotionally brutalize him."

Nallmian scowled. "Emotionally brut—Saveaux, that hare is dangerous! A bad leader, especially one who thinks he is an extraordinarily good one, despite all evidence to the contrary, can be as dangerous as any enemy. What am I supposed to do, sit on my bum and wait for his blithering idiocy to get somebody else killed? I don't happen to think politeness as important as survival." The stoat stared hard at Saveaux, and his expression softened somewhat. "Look, I'm sorry. Maybe you're right. I don't know, maybe I was too confrontational. But I couldn't risk being any less than crystal clear."

Saveaux picked up the charcoal again. For the third time, Nallmian read the note.

"This is difficult for everybody. I know you were trying your best. But ends don't always justify the means."

The newt turned away from Nallmian and looked at Biara. "R… waaaaaaa…waattterrr."

The marteness smiled pleasantly, the very picture of the devoted healer.  
"I suppose it has been a long while and a lot of excitement for someone who was recently seriously injured. Come on, I'll take you upstairs and make sure everything is alright." Newt in tow, Biara left the library to go get Saveaux settled in.

Nallmian watched her go, then leaned back in his chair with a book, trying to focus on something more detached and objective then his current state of mind. He had never held with the idea that ends didn't justify means. "Honor" and "fairness" meant that he and his hordebeasts completed their mission and got home alive and save, and to hell with all the rest. Yet somehow, even though he would have immediately launched a retort to anyone else who had presumed to lecture him on morality, he couldn't bring himself to really be angry at Saveaux.

It was an interesting turnaround, though, for Saveaux to be writing him notes with charcoal. Although he had been aware on a rational level from the beginning that Saveaux was a mature, intelligent newt, it had been hard to stop himself from thinking of Saveaux as a sort of surrogate kit for him and Biara to protect from the dangers in the castle, a way of thinking that had been reinforced when they had rescued him. Lately, however, the newt was growing more independent. Nallmian wondered how much long they would all be together as a group, and worried that he was driving Saveaux away. The problem was that so often the newt took issue with actions that were completely reasonable and logical responses to the problems at paw. Saveaux may not have been as pompous about it as Quincy, probably owing to his lack of a voice, but the newt was an idealist too. Would there ever be a time when Saveaux became an enemy? And how would he handle that if it happened? The stoat sighed and closed the book, deciding to go find Desmond and try to get something accomplished.

Nallmian quickly found his way back to Desmond's room, which had apparently been cleaned since he and Biara had killed that mole, although there was still a very satisfying dark red stain in the carpet. There was not, however, a squirrel in the room. Nallmian decided to wait for a bit for Desmond to return. Pacing the room a bit, the stoat's attention was caught by the free-standing full length mirror in the room. This one was not built into the wall, but had a wooden stand of its own. Nallmian stood in front of it to straighten his uniform, and was suddenly struck by a mental image of Quincy doing something similar, although the mental image of Quincy was a bit prissier about it than he had ever been. Nallmian snorted at the thought of the hare. What a ridiculous creature, with his ornate but rather impractical ideology about wooldnaders and vermin somehow living in peace together. It would have been funny if the hare in question hadn't been such a nuisance.

The stoat stood in front of the mirror, standing straight up and pointing at the mirror, fixing his reflection with a flinty gaze. "I'm Quincy Tulep, and you're going to do what I say. Why? Because it's RIGHT!"

The stoat paused. "Hmm. Maybe that's a little too forceful. He's really more like……" The stoat made his eyes wide and soulful, his lip quivering just a little to match the quaver in his voice. "You're a mean, mean stoat! Why don't you want us all to live in peace? There would be flowers and sweets and rainbows bursting out from our eye sockets. But you couldn't let us have a perfect world, because you're a bad, bad stoat. A bad, wicked, naughty stoat who is going to get sent to bed without—"

"Am I interrupting something?" Nallmian had gotten so caught up that he didn't notice as Desmond came into the room. The squirrel scowled at the stoat's presence in his room. "Do you have something to discuss with me, or do you just enjoy playing in my room?"

The stoat was serious again, aware that he couldn't afford to joke at a time like this. "Desmond, I've come to talk to you about Quincy. He's going to be a problem. A big problem."

"I'm aware that you don't think highly of his planning abilities, but I fail to see how that makes him dangerous. I simply shan't listen to him next time he tries to recruit me for a doomed enterprise," Desmond replied.

Nallmian shook his head. "It's not that simple Desmond. Look, let's be honest with one another for a moment. We're not very nice creatures, are we Desmond? We're not the kind of beasts that Quincy has in his head when he fantasizes about this brand new day of his, and let me tell you, you do not want to be in that position. Tell me, if he has a choice between you and this fantasy world of his, or you and that haremaid, or you and the luxury of continuing to believe, which do you think he will choose?"

Desmond was quiet a moment. "What's the point you're trying to make here, Nallmian?" he finally replied, and Nallmian noticed the use of his proper name.

"My point is that things are not looking up for Quincy right now. Real life is clashing with his ideals, and it's not clear which will win. If he decides that pragmatism is the better part of valor, we should be fine. But if he doesn't, and someday it's him against me…I just want you to think about what I've said. I know you don't like me, Desmond, and I'm not pretending to like you. But the fact of the matter is that we have more in common than either one of us would probably enjoy contemplating. And that means that we're in Quincy's way. We're pieces that don't fit into his vision of How Things Ought To Be. If the time comes—and it may never come, or it may come today or tomorrow or the day after, or the day after, I just want you to to remember this little conversation, and remember the fact that ultimately I don't wish you ill. I have no practical reason to want you dead. But Quincy does. We're in his way. Someday you might have to decide between him trampling through us both or pushing back."

Desmond's facial expression remained steady, but Nallmian could see the  
wheels turning in his head. "I…I will consider what you've told me. Perhaps we could discuss this further and make a deal that would…correct the situation."

The stoat smiled. "That's just what I wanted to hear. Now, what I was thinking…."

Neither the stoat nor the squirrel thought to pause in their conversation to check outside the door, where a listener knelt by the doorknob, just able to distinguish their voices. When they had heard enough the listener stood and quietly walked away to pursue their own ends, and was gone when Nallmian left to return to Biara and the library. As the stoat walked down the hallway, he ran his paw along the wall. His face began to crease into a frown. The more he thought about it, the more problems there were with trying to sap. Even if the books in the library were accurate, he was not an engineer and had no experience whatsoever with sapping. Aside from that, however, sapping was almost always done from the outside, and usually against castles less fortified than this one, a high quality building constructed by a paranoid badger, who had apparently been quite serious about security before taking it too far and murdering...murderer...murder... The stoat suddenly snapped his fingers.

"Murder holes! That just might be it..." The stoat quickened his pace to run back to the library and look for what just might be a better way out.


	55. Insanity in a Cup

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 53. Insanity in a Cup  
**

_by Kima  
_

Reality was a cruel thing to be stuck in. And reality is exactly where Kima had been stuck ever since Rhea had nearly skewered her. The long night she had spent cowering in her room, she was all there. The morning she had spent trailing behind the failed escape attempt, she was all there. And now, crouched within the shadows of the room across from the dining hall, Kima was most assuredly all there. The muscles in her body ached. Every memory from the past several days pressed in on all sides. The knowledge of what she was becoming weighed on her, both fascinating and repugnant. She remembered the raw power that surged through her, and it frightened her.

Yes, all her wits were accounted for, and she hated it.

Kima would just as soon been rid of them all – simply sink back into the primal ignorance that tugged incessantly and forget what she was become. Unfortunately, with her wits came the knowledge that she needed to hold on to at least some of them. Running around in a complete mental torpor didn't hold much promise of making it out of here alive. She would do everything she could to survive, even if that meant playing by the rules. That meant she needed to remember the rules.

Across the way, Nallmian's ranting in the dining hall faded to a low murmur. Ears swiveling forward, Kima peered out from where she was hidden. Nallmian strode purposefully into the hallway, Biara and Saveaux not far behind. She remained in her hiding spot. A few moments later, Desmond wandered by. That meant it was just Quincy left.

Kima stood and slipped across the hallway into the dining hall, paws silent on the cold stone floor. Peeking inside, she saw the hare stand up from the table. He looked so weak – so vulnerable. She shuddered and pushed the thought away. After a deep breath, the feline took several steps in and stopped a safe distance away from Quincy.

"Quincy?"

The hare spun around to face her. "Kima." His eyes flashed with anger, a window to the hatred simmering quietly within. Kima actually stepped backwards, surprised by the disgust and righteous indignation that came from the hare. Quincy matched it with a limping step of his own.

That drew Kima's attention to the reddish bandage around Quincy's leg. She winced. She had done that. And enjoyed it. The memory of the skin giving way to her fangs – of fresh blood on her tongue – flashed through her mind. An urge to repeat it grabbed at her, threatening to overwhelm. She pushed the thought away and then resolutely ignored it. Now wasn't the time to be distracted. "Quincy, please, we need to talk."

"What's there to talk about? I know you killed Lady Rhea." The hare's voice quavered with emotion. "What did she ever do to you?"

There it was again. That accusation.

Kima shook her head. "No. I didn't kill her, Quincy."

"And how'd you figure that? Flip a coin while standing over her dead body?"

What in the world was he talking about? It took Kima several moments to figure that one out. "Oh, right. About last night…"

"Shut up."

"Quincy…"

"I said shut up!"

_Gates! I wasn't expecting Quincy…but if that's how…_ "Quincy, please." She stepped forward.

Quincy's eyes widened and he dropped into a defensive stance. "Don't come a step closer you…you bloomin' monster."

_A monster…?_ Kima's ears flattened. She was beginning to get annoyed. Here she was trying to apologize, and this hare wouldn't let her get a word in edgewise. Images of her chewing on his leg again clamored for attention. "Quincy, I haven't killed anyone yet so…"

"So why don't you try and kill me right now?" He was baiting her, daring her to do it. Daring her to prove his point. "I know you'd love to finish what you started."

That nearly did it. Kima felt her reason slipping from her grasp. She growled and clasped her head with her paws, trying to keep control. "By the fur, Quincy! I'm trying to apologize, alright? I didn't kill Rhea, and I'm sorry she's dead! I'm sorry about Flynn, I'm sorry about Raine, and I'm sorry about your leg! Now hear me out before you make me do something I'll regret!"

Quincy laughed bitterly. "What's one more to the list?"

Kima stared at Quincy. Indeed, what was one more thing to the list of deaths she might as well have orchestrated herself? She was going to kill him anyway, so why not right now? Her paws dropped to her sides, the urge to eat this tasty morsel before her building strength. But no, that's not why she had come to the hare. The thinking part of her managed to keep a tenuous control. "Please, let me explain…"

"You had your chance. Now let me explain something to you." Quincy's voice dropped an octave, becoming almost sinister. "I've let everybeast know what you've done, and if any other guest disappears, everybeast will know it was you."

Kima cried out in frustration. "I didn't kill your stinking badger!"

"Oh no?"

"No! But I'm beginning to wish I had!" Nearly pouncing on the hare, Kima instead spun on her heel and stormed from the dining hall. She stomped upstairs to her bedroom, snarling the entire way. Slamming the door, she began pacing agitatedly, muttering angrily to herself.

So much for being nice! She was just trying to make amends to Quincy before she went and killed the guests. Why did he have to lash out like that? As much as she had planned on killing Rhea the other day, she didn't do it. The instant the badger had attacked, Kima had known there was no way she could come out on top in an outright fight.

So then who had killed Rhea? Surely not one of the servants. That meant one of the other guests was beginning to play by the rules, too. Not a good thing. Not good at all. The chances of her getting out alive were much better when everybeast else was working on trying to escape. She needed to…

Her pacing was interrupted by a timid knocking on the door. Hardly stopping to think, Kima simply called out a "come in" and kept stalking to and fro.

The door opened and a hedgehog shuffled in carrying a mug and kettle on a silver tray. "Good day, Miss Kima. I have your hot water for tea."

Kima stopped her walking and watched the hedgehog as he deposited the tray on the bedside table. Right. Ever since getting the teabags from Biara, she had requested hot water be brought up to her room.

Grabbing her last teabag out of her pocket, Kima stared blandly at it. Over the past several days, she had come to rely on these herbal infusions to calm her nerves and soothe her sore throat. Now, however, it was no longer necessary. Somewhere, sometime, her cold had disappeared completely.

This actually came as a startling revelation to her. When had she gotten better? Thinking back, she tried to figure it out, but really couldn't pinpoint any moment in particular. She simply…was no longer sick.

_No matter._ Kima shrugged and tossed the teabag carelessly aside. The tea didn't appeal to her any longer. No, she wanted something a little stronger – needed something that would help her relax even more. Her instincts tittered in anticipation.

She smiled at the servant who had delivered the hot water. He would do nicely. She beckoned him over.

The hedgehog gazed blankly at the wildcat. "Yes, Miss Kima?"

Kima grabbed her mug and extended it towards the servant. "Hold your wrist over the mug." The servant obliged. "Now cut it open with your dagger."

There was a moment's hesitation. "Pardon?"

Kima's claws flexed and her tail twitched dangerously. "I'd do it myself, but I'm not allowed to touch you." She leered toothily. "But I'm not above making exceptions. Do it, or I'll do it for you." A small part of her cried out in protest, demanding she stop this madness. She did her best to ignore it. Reason had had its chance, and see what had come of it! Absolutely nothing.

The hedgehog waited one moment more before slowly slipping his dagger from its sheath and raising it to his wrist. In one, swift motion, he slashed open the skin, wincing despite himself. The fur around the wound quickly darkened and blood began dripping into the mug.

The scent of blood filled the room, and Kima nearly lost it right there and then. Pulse beginning to pound, she managed to cover her nose with a pawkerchief and maintain self-control. It wouldn't do to accidentally attack a servant again.

When the mug had filled three quarters of the way, she nodded to the hedgehog. "That's enough. You may go now."

The hedgehog, looking decidedly tipsy, quickly pressed a pawkerchief of his own to his open wound. "Good day, Miss Kima." His voice was pale and weak, but he walked from the room without stumbling.

Once she heard the door latch, Kima giggled and sank into a large armchair. She looked all about the room, speaking to anybeast who might be listening. "See that? I didn't touch him! I didn't do anything wrong." She giggled again, and the pawkerchief fluttered to the floor.

Raising the mug of blood, she inhaled its scent, her primal side rushing to the forefront with a savage roar of triumph. Reason gave a feeble cry before being swept away. Her memories and worries faded. They weren't important. The cat's toes curled in delight. What a glorious smell! Paws trembling slightly, she drained the mug in a single swig. It was like drinking liquid ecstasy. Eyes closing, she sat still in marvelous rapture as the warm liquid slowly trickled down her throat. She was completely lost to the world.

The stained mug tumbled to the floor as the cat began prowling about the room, sniffing in the corners and fumbling awkwardly at the door handle that refused to move. She mreowed somewhat dejectedly when she found nothing interesting aside from a cup with a bit of tasty residue still inside. After giving it a thorough licking, she flopped onto the bed and stretched out, a contented purr rumbling from her throat.

Finally, after some time of simple relaxing, Kima opened her eyes, a broad smile gracing her maw. Grabbing onto some of her wits, carefully avoiding the ones that would cause her grief, she gave a highly-satisfied sigh. "Woo! I needed that. You woodlanders don't know what you're missing."

She curled into a ball on the bed, muscles relaxing. Playing Falliss' little game could wait. Now, it was time for a short nap. Later, it would be time to hunt. One ear twitching as it listened for any noises, Kima drifted off into a light slumber, the taste of blood lingering pleasantly on her tongue.


	56. Eyes that Watch and Can't Forget

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 54. Eyes that Watch and Can't Forget  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

Biara left him alone at his request. Saveaux saw a moment in which the marten hesitated before she agreed that the newt was able to take care of himself. Saveaux's brow knitted a fraction; Biara had not pressed further.

His eye fell upon the mirror in his room, covered in the same manner as Nallmian had covered his. The stoat was clever, but he worried Saveaux. His behavior earlier that day was reckless, unneeded; not only did it chastise Quincy, but reminded everybeast else of their own failure in the plan. No doubt the hare was not the only beast left second-guessing himself and in such a dangerous scenario as this, group morale was vital- Nallmian had thrown a knife into that heart.

What made the stoat's plan superior, Saveaux wondered? Today was spent gathering materials on the castle, a venture which Saveaux had already attempted two times over. He had kept his thoughts to himself and so they had searched the entire library again, recovering about as much as the newt had his first attempt. The primary plan, had been to puncture a wall. That in and of itself was implausible; the wall they had broken down on the third floor was newly repaired and solely for the cosmetic purpose of concealing the tomb. Any castle wall would be tenfold better maintained, twenty fold sturdier. But the newt had kept silent and they had searched the books for information on a weak spot.

Discounting the difficulties of breaking a wall, there was also noise to consider; the first wall breach was loud. Now, far enough away from that event to see from each angle, Saveaux wondered why nobeast had stopped them. With watchers just behind the walls and the racket they made that must have been audible all the way down to the first floor, why had none intervened?

They wanted them to find the tomb. They knew that the wall concealed no vital thing and knew that, though they may breach that wall, the ones leading to actual salvation were far stronger.

Yet, discovery would not be an issue this time. There was a distraction plan in place. Biara and Nallmian had begun brainstorming a plan in which they would locate the servant's food supply and poison it. Before, Saveaux pictured acts much more horrendous, each involving severed limbs, torture, battle, death. When he learned that they would only poison the servants enough to incapacitate them, the newt was relieved. This disturbed him.

He was relieved that beasts would be suffering and not dying, as if it were an apt compromise. The servants were trapped within the castle for longer than they, and Saveaux could not imagine what they endured that made them the hollow shells that walked the halls.

Outside of that, there were uncountable ways the plan could go wrong. Saveaux pictured servants limping from place to place, whatever concealed or improvised infirmaries they employed filled to the brim with the sick. One miscalculation, an extra dose here or there or if there were not enough healthy left to tend to the sick; the death toll would be astronomic.

Even with servants out of the way, there was still no way to breach the walls with what limited tools they were allowed, Saveaux had thought as they continued to plan exactly how they would sap a wall. The suffering the servants would endure unsettled him; Nallmian's reaction when he found the remainder of his plan un-executable inspired nightmares.

With his initial plan made impossible, the stoat would retaliate, perhaps launch a strike on the entire castle staff. Blows struck at both sides, guests and servants alike would line the halls with their corpses while the captain charged on, determined to leave by force – what other way did a horde beast know?

Perhaps Nallmian would ignore the servants altogether. The Professor's demand had been that only one live; fulfill the demand and the last left standing got to leave. Nallmian was the most skilled at combat and against a scantly armed medic, a resolutely pacifist hare, a wildcat with a mind clouded by madness and a defenseless author, the stoat would easily succeed.

His fears were allayed, somewhat, at the end of the day when everybeast had decided that breaking through the castle's foundations would prove too difficult. Saveaux was again left to question the stoat's superiority. What made Nallmian any better of a strategist than Quincy if it had taken an entire day to decipher something that Saveaux had already known? The newt could devise a much better escape plan entirely by himself.

Saveaux blinked. He knew what to do.

The newt got up, back protesting as he crept to the corner of his room. Bending down, he retrieved a small blank volume that he had taken from the library just before the escape. He fancied keeping a diary in order to keep grasp on his nerves and sanity, but at the mention of a possible escape, he had left the book in its hiding place. Now he was back in the castle, back with the diary.

The newt retrieved the stick of charcoal concealed in the book's spine and began writing everything: what he was thinking, what had transpired previous, what might happen. When he had the contents equal to about three chapters, he began writing in a different direction, expanding upon possibilities for escape he had only but mentioned in passing in the previous paragraphs. At an hour, the newt had his plan in skeleton, awaiting muscle and flesh. There was nothing yet concrete, only loose outlines of what might be. Tomorrow, he would meet with the beast who could supply him with the right information to fully realize his plan on paper and, with any well deserved luck, help execute it.

-------

The hare was in his room. He let Saveaux in but did not say anything, retreating to a chair where he sat silently until, "So, I suppose Nallmian sent you here to remind me how stupid I am?"

The grating anger in Quincy's voice did nothing to stir Saveaux; he expected this.

"M…iiiii….an….n-o-o…t…knnnnnnn….ow."

Saveaux procured the journal, flipped to the last page upon which he had written, and passed the book to Quincy.

'Nallmian does not know that I am here. He does not want to involve you until absolutely necessary. I fear that this means that he does not plan to involve you at all, and so thought it best to come to you in person and inform you of his plan.

'They plan on poisoning the servant's food supply in order to hinder their movements.'

Saveaux knew to what length Quincy had read when the hare shot him a wide-eyed look. The newt reached across, tapped the paper to signal the hare to read on.

'We must allow this to continue. Shameful as it is for me to allow them to do such a thing, it will serve its purpose, leaving the staff too occupied to interrupt us. As of current, they do not have any sort of escape plan other than this distraction.'

"Then how-"

The newt rapped his finger on the page.

'I have come to you today to receive information in the hopes that I might be able to formulate a plan. Please be as thorough in your responses as possible; no detail is too small. The first question; who were the servants that assisted in our near-escape? Secondly, who was the servant who sabotaged the attempt?'

Quincy looked up. "That was Jolice, her mother Althea and Vincent, her mother's mate."

Saveaux snatched the journal, wrote another question.

"Can you elaborate on each of these persons?"

"Jolice was the one who got me to the castle. She told me that she was part of a movement of woodlanders and vermin who lived peacefully together." Quincy gave a disbelieving laugh. "Jolice was sold to the castle when she was a child. Her mother was sold as well and Jolice had been trying for years to find her. Two days ago, when Kima and I were in the basement, we stumbled upon Jolice and were with her when she found a room hidden behind some storage crates. Down there were Althea, Vincent and a bunch of other servants."

Saveaux's mind jumped focus to a phrase almost lost from memory. So long ago he had read those words, it seemed-

_In Basement…_

The newt wrote, 'Please tell me everything about this room and the other servants within. Spare absolutely no detail.'

Quincy recounted the story of the breeding room and its occupants. Saveaux kept still throughout, remaining so for a few moments after Quincy had finished. His charcoal cut a swift path across paper. The hare was handed the journal, now with an additional three pages filled with words.

'Highest praises and other sounds of thanks, my friend. Your information has proved invaluable. Bellow is a plan which I have devised. Commit it to memory as best as possible…"

-------

When the hare was done reading, he handed the journal back to Saveaux.

"…You're smarter than I gave you credit for. Sorry…for that, and when I snapped at you earlier." A pause. "Are you sure it will work?"

The newt's brows lowered. He passed his journal back, page turned to the end of the instructions. The last line read, "Yes, I am most positive that this plan shall work," and below that, "You didn't read this last section, did you?"

Quincy gave a weak smile. "Right, stupid question."

The silence that took hold was full, a question on the cusp of erupting from the hare. Saveaux cleared his throat in the hopes it would prompt Quincy.

He slowly asked, "And Nallmian? What if he finds out that you're doing this?"

"Mmm…mmm…mmm-iannn…m-m-y…p-p-pppr…obl-eee-m-mmm."

The newt began writing another page. Quincy sat quietly until he was finished.

'There is one more matter,' read the note, 'to which we must attend…'

-------

Saveaux closed the door behind him, waving to Quincy as he shut the door without a sound. The newt turned on his heel, coming face to face with Nallmian.

"Hi there," said the stoat.

Saveaux gurgled, pushed past Nallmain.

"I know it's none of my business, and it's far beyond me to tell you what to do," from the stoat's tone, it sounded as though he believed anything but, "However, might I remind you to who it is you owe your life."

Without turning, Saveaux wrote in his journal, tore the paper out, dropped it on the floor.

Nallmian retrieved the paper and read, 'I have not. On the contrary, I remember everything.' Seeing charcoal marks leering at him from behind the paper, the stoat turned the note to read the back. 'The water cavern tonight. I will explain in the study.'

Nallmian looked up. The hall was empty.

-------

Saveaux stood with his arms crossed behind his back.

Quincy was several feet away, his features unsure. The hare had said that he wanted this, but confessed that he was not at all sure that it would work as planned. Saveaux attempted to re-assure him, saying that it must be done if they were to continue.

The others entered in a line, spreading out in front of the pool. Only Kima was absent. After hearing what the wildcat had done, Saveaux was relieved at this. The newt swallowed, nodded to Quincy. While the hare crossed back to his left flank, Saveaux stepped foreword, pulling his hands from behind his back to reveal sheets of paper. He placed a sheet each in everybeast's paw, keeping only one for himself. Finished, he crossed over to the side of the water cavern opposite the three. Quincy stood apart from everybeast.

"Th…hhhhhh-a…nnnnnK…c-c-c-ommmmmmm…mmminG," Saveaux's voice grated. He tapped a finger to the sheet in his hands, causing everybeast to glance at theirs. Quincy began to read the first line aloud.

"Thank you all for being here tonight. I know that there are more pressing matters at hand, but I felt that this must be done. It is our duty to pay our respects to our friends who have fallen into the great unknown. We must honor them, lay them to rest, and, above all, remember them, because being forgotten is a fate more grim than death."

Nallmian did not look at his paper. Saveaux focused on the stoat, reading his countenance; Quincy shouldn't be reading about honoring the dead when he was responsible for them being that way, the stoat's expression said. Yet, unlike any other time since the stoat had arrived at the castle, his feelings were hidden, hooded by a solemn expression as though it were his duty to be there. No, that was not apt; it was more than just a duty that he had to suffer through hearing a hypocrite speak on behalf of the deceased. Nallmian wanted to be there.

Saveaux was befuddled. The newt had surely thought that one so obsessed with escaping promptly by any means necessary would dismiss a funeral service as unneeded. Against Saveaux's predictions, Nallmian backed his idea, even when he had informed him that Quincy would be there as well.

"Please read note number 2." Finished Quincy.

"We honor Captain Sootpaws," read Nallmian, "taken from us first. Though aloof, it was evident that the Captain had a good heart and soul. No doubt he lead his men honorably. He was taken from us before we had time to aptly get acquainted and we lament his passing." Nallmian stopped, signaling Saveaux that he had gotten to the note at the end of the passage instructing the reader to say a few of his own words about the deceased.

"He was a bit of an oaf. And he probably wouldn't be that useful right now, but, he did have a good heart. A captain never likes to see his own men die. I could go on with the list of 'if only's but it wouldn't do any good because he is gone. He's gone and nobeast can tell us why, really, and that is what hurts the most."

"He was my friend," Quincy added. "I barely knew him but I know that he was my friend. I miss him."

The cards prompted the next to speak. Biara began, "We honor Raine, the second to pass. Raine had a spirit most admirable. As adversity stared her down, she did not crumble, but stared back with equal vigor, a light to illuminate the way for her comrades. Although she often appeared as though her mind was elsewhere, her soul was in helping us all to work together and escape. For this, we lament her passing."

The martiness looked up from her paper. Saveaux saw a muted face, not entirely blank but lacking strong emotion. Like Nallmian, she knew she had to be there, but unlike him, it appeared to be entirely for duty's sake.

"Raine was crushed, more than likely died of blunt trauma to her internal organs. The shelf could have done any number of things; broken her ribs, her spine, crushed her skull. It was a horrible way to die. Nobeast deserves that." Biara's clinical tones hung in the air like a stench. The last statement felt less sincere, more an afterthought. Saveaux made note of this; it would help in his research to cure her.

Nobeast said anything more about Raine, although Quincy sniffed and Saveaux gurgled for lack of being able to say more; he wanted so much to say more.

It was Desmond's turn. "We honor Flynn. Warriors often die in battle, and though we may never truly know what battle claimed her life, we know that she died with honor. Flynn dedicated her life to the protection of others; honor and justice were weaved into her fibers. So shall she be remembered. We lament her passing."

The squirrel coughed. Desmond was the most out of place guest at the service. Every few moments, he would glance to one of the others, then to the door as if expecting something to burst through. When he caught somebeast starring at him in kind, he would concentrate on the pond, evading their glances; he relied on this tactic particularly whenever Quincy glanced at him.

"That's a lot of rubbish," said Desmond. "She was inconsiderate, self-righteous, openly rude, and not even pretty enough to make up for it. If one of us had to die, I'm glad it was... Er." He seemed to notice for the first time that the others were staring at him. "That is. She saved my life. That was decent of her." Saveaux barely heard a muttered, "Sorry," added before the squirrel went silent.

Nobeast had anything to add. Quincy held up his paper.

"We honor Rhea." His paws were shaking. The hare dropped the paper. "I don't need this," he asserted. "Rhea was my friend. I knew her my whole life, growing up at Salamandastron. Wasn't a finer badger or lady. I only wish I had been paying attention when-"

The words choked the hare. Saveaux felt his hands clench into fists.

"Rhea, I dunno if you can hear me where you are, but we're going to keep trying. We are going to get out of here and make sure that this never happens to anybeast again. Promise."

Saveaux circled the pond, retrieving all of the papers. He ended with Nallmian, handing the stoat his last slip before crossing back to his spot above the water.

"We now retire these eulogies to the water as a way of commemorating their passing. Though we've no bodies to burry nor soil in which to enmesh them, we hope that this shall serve as an apt tribute. Let none of us forget our fallen friends, even as we head now towards the growing darkness."

Saveaux let the sheets free, tumbling down into the water. They floated at first, small boats amidst a marble sea, and gradually sank. The ink bled from each note, black streams hi-lighting their descent until they were out of view.

Everybeast began to stream out of the room. Saveaux caught Quincy before he left.

"M…m-mmm-o…rooooooow?"

The hare nodded.

Saveaux patted Quincy on the arm. He had not seen the nod. The newt was focused on something else: Desmond.

At the mention of Rhea, the squirrel's eyes suddenly darted back to the water, yet gone was the tired, lost expression before. His eyes had widened, his pupils shrunk. When the service finished, Desmond was the first to the door.

Saveaux retrieved his journal from his belt, charcoal in hand, flipping to the last page.

_Desmond knows something. I turn my attention to him on the morrow._


	57. Lots of Teeth Equals Lots of Respect

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 55. Lots of Teeth Equals Lots of Respect**

_by Biara  
_

If there was one thing that Biara had learned through this whole ordeal, it was that cordial and cider were quite delightful when mixed together and drunk warmed up with a little cinnamon.

The marteness twitched her whiskers. She supposed there were a few other things scattered here and there, but so far this had been by far the most important.

Biara nestled into the cushions of one of the library's armchairs with a contented sigh. The fire was delightfully warm on her fur, and if she could momentarily forget exactly why she was there (an easy task when Nallmian wasn't running about shouting the place down), then she could count on having a perfectly enjoyable evening.

Savoring a sip from her mug, the marten considered. The escape plan had invariably failed, and yet she just couldn't be bothered to get as worked up over it as the others were. Of all the places to be stuck in, this castle didn't happen to be all that bad. A professional medic had to make the best out of any situation, and this particular situation had a great many opportunities for research and experimentation that she simply might not have had access to elsewhere.

The more hot-tempered guests were nearly at each others throats already, so all Biara had to do was wait, offering her help whenever it was needed, until the numbers were so few that she could easily deal with the remainder of the guests. It was absolutely simple.

And regardless of how mad the good Professor happened to be, at the very least he knew how to brew a decent cordial.

Ever since the botched escape attempt, it seemed as if, at least with Nallmian, there had been no time for anything but frantic action. Biara had watched with interest as the stoat ran himself ragged doing all kinds of research and hatching grandiose and elaborate plans that, for all the trouble, seemed to just focus on inconveniencing servants and spying on Quincy.

Biara giggled; she couldn't help it. It was just so _funny._

She was still giggling when Desmond approached. "Well, somebeast seems to be enjoying herself at least," he murmured, a little surprised at the healer's uncharacteristic display of emotion.

Upon seeing Desmond's face, the marteness logically... giggled even more. Desmond was clearly not as amused, raising an irritated eyebrow as Biara attempted to form coherent words through the laughter.

"Why, hello Desmond! Heehee, did anybeast ever tell you how utterly ridiculous you look?"

"No," Desmond said icily, "but that's what I think every time I see you, so I suppose we're even." The squirrel slumped heavily into the chair next to Biara's, and the marten wrinkled her nose. Desmond was always so… what was the word? Well, whatever it was, it was rude and bothersome and fit Desmond to a tee.

"Hey now, don' look like that." The marten tipped her mug to the squirrel. "You're the great stripedog slayer!"

Desmond glared bad-temperedly. "'Gates, why don't you inform the entire castle?"

"There's nobeast around, so 's no use in trying t'hide it," Biara said simply, and Desmond was a little taken aback by the sudden return of the marten's logic. He nodded reluctantly.

"All the same, I would prefer if you'd kindly refrain from bringing it up."

"O'course, o'course." Biara nodded sagely, although she honestly didn't understand at all. Her ears perked up. "Wouldya like some?"

Desmond sniffed cautiously at the contents of the offered mug, and frowned deeply. "No," he snapped. The squirrel sighed at Biara's bewildered expression. "I mean, no thank you." With that, he slouched back into the cushions of the armchair.

The healer shrugged. "Well, that's good, 'cause I wasn't gonna give you any, anyway," she said matter-of-factly before taking a swig.

"Believe it or not," Desmond gritted, "I had something of actual importance to discuss with you."

"Wozzit?" The marten quirked both ears forward. "You're really a striped broom?"

The only response from the squirrel was a withering stare.

Biara sighed. "No, I suppose not. Go on."

Desmond nodded stiffly. "It's about Kima," he hissed, looking about as if expecting the wildcat to leap out from behind a bookshelf. He leaned in confidentially. "You must have heard that there's something decidedly… off about her."

"Don't be silly, Desmond," The tall marten tittered. "Kima's one of the most docile beasts I've ever had to deal with. She'd most likely end up killing herself than somebeast else, believe me." She brushed her shins with her tail. "Quincy was yelling at her earlier, sure, but we both know she wasn't the one who really killed Rhea."

"You don't understand," Desmond countered quickly. _"She tried to eat Quincy."_ Biara gave a snort of laughter, but quickly turned it into a cough when she realized that the squirrel was being entirely serious. "I'm sure you saw him limping earlier. I spoke to him yesterday, and his leg was still bleeding. And furthermore, Kima was the only beast with that mousemaid when she died, and it's fairly easy to assume that she also killed Flynn."

Biara was clearly trying not to laugh. "So? Flynn was such a bloody annoyance, I would have done away with her myself if I got the chance." She took another sip from her mug. "'sides, if you're so concerned, why'nt you just do away with her yourself? You clearly didn't need help dealing with a badger."

"That was different!" Desmond scowled. "Rhea was threatening me and that was the only thing I could do to ensure my own safety."

The healer shrugged. "Fine. If Kima's really dang'rous, then killing her's still easy." She straightened her posture. "I'm her medic, y'know, so she'll trust me. And then it's all just addin' a little wolfbane to her medication and that's that."

Desmond looked unconvinced. "But if she's really as dangerous as Quincy said, then who's to say she won't just attack you? A madbeast doesn't act on logic. She didn't come to that funeral service, and I'm quite sure she wasn't invited to the escape attempt either. And especially now that Quincy is on to her, we can't expect that she's just going to go back to her room."

The two beasts considered for a moment, although Biara was still wondering exactly how the amiable and clumsy Kima could be anything resembling a cold-blooded murderer. Suddenly, Biara's ears shot up and she snapped her claws. "Oh! The badger!"

"Will you _stop_ bringing that up?!" Desmond snapped.

"No, no, not _that_ badger," Biara said with a vague wave of the paw. "I meant the other one!"

Desmond sniffed. "Oh, naturally, because there are just so many of them lying around."

"Just listen, would you?" The marten huffed in irritation. "Agatha told me 'n Nallmian about some weapon hidden in the museum, and it turns out it's some kind o' huge stripedog assassin!" The marten gestured with her paw to try and describe just how big it was, but gave up half way. "Honest truth," she added upon noticing Desmond's skeptical expression.

"So, how does this badger assassin work?"

Biara rubbed at the bridge of her snout. "I'm not entirely sure, but I believe you just ask it who you want killed and he does it."

"Interesting…" Desmond said, thoughtfully.

"Y'know…" Biara said slowly, lowering her ears. "I prolly shouldn't've mentioned that…"

"Oh, but why not?" The squirrel smiled in a friendly manner. "It might just be the safest way to rid ourselves of a crazed murderer, right?"

"But is it really necessary? It'd be much easier to just off her ourselves. In fact, I haven't even seen her since…" The healer slit her eyes in concentration, "th' day before yesterday, so I'd have to stop by just to see how she's doing." She rolled her eyes, "Considering that cat's string of luck so far, I'd say she's probably hurt herself just as much as the hare."

Desmond muttered something under his breath, but Biara didn't particularly care what it was. She nodded decisively. "Right, well that's that. I'll speak with her a little later." The marteness took another long drought from her mug. Things were just so _easy!_

"Well, do be careful," Desmond said, getting to his footpaws. Biara blinked and the squirrel continued. "I mean, Kima had better not find out about the plan because of you doing something idiotic. If you get yourself killed, that's entirely your own concern."

"No need to concern yourself so, Desmond." Biara's voice was perfectly clear and coherent. "I assure you that I know precisely what I'm doing."

Desmond grunted and brushed something off of his robe. "If Kima hasn't ripped you to shreds during your meeting, then talk to me tomorrow after breakfast."

"Of course." The marteness smiled. "And you still look like a broom."

Desmond looked as if he was about to say something, but then thought better of it. Instead, the haughty squirrel turned on his heel and stalked away, muttering something into the air about pine martens. The pine marten in question drank deeply and leaned back against the soft cushions of the arm chair, closing her eyes.

Despite how similar she and that badger happened to be, Biara knew it was foolish to trust it, especially since he was still connected with Agatha. So therefore, a test subject was needed. The healer couldn't recall ever having giggled that much in her life, but it had worked well enough. Desmond had gone for the bait faster than a hungry rat pup who had just been told where the apple pie was hidden.

--

Biara had taken a small nap, and although she didn't exactly feel one hundred percent herself, after a drink of water, the healer felt more than ready to speak with Kima.

Figuring that there was nothing to lose from trying, the marteness rapped smartly on Kima's door. Shortly after, the wildcat's light voice could be heard plainly from the other side. "Come on in!" Biara obliged, entering the room without pause. The coppery scent of blood lingered tantalizingly in the air, however, just like when the healer had seen the toppled shelf in the library, the wildcat's room was disappointingly devoid of any evidence.

Kima smiled as soon as she saw the healer enter her room, although even Biara had to admit that it looked more like she was just baring her teeth. There was a harder edge to her gaze as well, one that the marten had been used to seeing in her own reflection before she had learned to mask it. But the marten blinked and Kima seemed once again her old self. Biara flicked one ear; perhaps she had only imagined the difference.

"Hello, Kima." Biara nodded politely. "How are you feeling today?"

"Great! Actually, I think I've gotten completely over that pesky cold and I'm feeling better than ever." The wildcat stretched fluidly and yawned, showing off thorn-sharp teeth.

_I can see that._ The marten smiled. "Oh, is that so? Very nice!" Biara tapped a claw to her chin. "Oh, that reminds me, though. You weren't injured at all by any of the servants this morning, were you? You look like you've been in a bit of a scrape."

"Do I?" Kima sounded a little nervous. "You know, Biara, I probably didn't get any worse off than you did. You should really be focusing on your own injuries. Even healers can get hurt," the wildcat purred.

"Undoubtedly," Biara said with a small smile. "And you? It's hardly safe to ignore injuries, you know. They'll only get worse. More painful, harder to work on…" The marten shrugged. "But, it's up to you, of course."

"Precisely."

"And then there's still the matter of my payment." Biara toyed with her scalpel. "I do hope you hadn't forgotten."

Kima chortled softly. "Of course, I haven't. I promise that I'll pay you properly once we've managed to escape. Unless…" The wildcat laid her ears back, looking somewhat troubled. "Well, never mind." She smiled again. "Just be sure you manage to stay alive until then."

"Oh, I most certainly plan on it." Biara cocked her head. "You know, that reminds me. It's the strangest thing, but I heard some silly rumor that you had taken a bite out of Quincy." The healer chuckled. "Ridiculous, isn't it?"

Kima paused for a moment, and then snorted. "Oh, yes! The very notion!"

Both vermin had a good laugh, until Biara cleared her throat. "Are you quite sure you're alright? You don't want any tea?"

"Quite sure," Kima said with a nod, "but thank you very much."

"Yes, well, if you ever need anything, you can always come by." Biara dipped her head. "Good night, Kima."

"Good night, Biara."

The tall marten turned the doorknob, but was stopped by a voice behind her. "You know, I've heard that pine marten is delicious." She could feel the cat's breath hot against her neck, and the overwhelming scent of blood only added strength to Kima's words.

Biara smiled, but didn't turn. "Not nearly as much as cat." And then the healer swept out and closed the door behind her.

--

So, it appeared that Kima was in fact dangerous. And potentially crazy . A good thing to know.

Biara had not learnt as much about ailments of the mind as she would have liked, but she was quite sure there was only one cure for a beast like the wildcat. However, Kima was no less intelligent than before, and despite all that Biara had done for her, it was painfully obvious that she was not going to make it easy for her own medic to kill her. _How rude._

Regardless, Biara would deal with her later. The healer descended the stairs at a brisk pace, claws flexing in anticipation. There was research of her own to be done. The first, dealing with the dreams of a certain stoat.

Stopping inside her room, the marten rummaged through one of the drawers on her bedside table and retrieved one of her little tea packets. Biara hummed cheerfully to herself as she added the crushed up remains of a certain leaf from her medicine pouch to the mixture. She smiled fondly at the tea bag before tucking it away. Now the only thing left to do was find Nallmian...

The stoat, however, wasn't in his room. Biara rolled her eyes; _In the library... again._ She strode into the library to find Nallmian poring over several books, Saveaux in tow. She nodded briefly to him. "Did you find anything interesting?"

Nallmian looked up and smiled at the marten. "Oh, hello Biara! As a matter of fact, I did."

_Oh goody._ Biara dutifully sat down beside him, knowing that in the end it would be worth it. The marten smiled to herself, tapping a claw against her medicine pouch. Everybeast had to sleep some time; she was just going to give the stoat a little push in the right direction.


	58. But Doctor, I am Pagliacci!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 56. ****"But Doctor, I am Pagliacci!"**

_by Nallmian  
_

"We've been thinking too big. It's time to think smaller." Nallmian had said cryptically as he, Biara and Saveaux had met in the library again.

"Meaning…?" Biara asked.

"We've been thinking about making holes in the walls. What about using the ones that have to already be there?" The trio reached the table that was still covered with books from earlier and sat down. "We know the badger king who built this place was paranoid, right? He was obsessed with attacks, constantly seeing enemies everywhere, so it would stand to reason he built this place for war as much as for residency, right? Which would probably make the walls much stronger than on many castles."

Saveaux and Biara nodded. Saveaux almost gave the air of having thought of this already, which, Nallmian reflected, perhaps he had. It was becoming increasingly clear just how smart the newt was. Nallmian made a mental note to be more aware of this.

The stoat continued. "However, this means that there must, by default, be some way of defending the place. Every castle has battlements of some kind, since you need them for archers, observation points, etc. Also, almost every castle has things called murder holes. These are slits in the walls that are designed to allow missile troops to remain behind cover while shooting down at anybody who tries to bring a battering ram or ladders to bear. What if we could find some way to the murder holes? Enlarging pre-existing gaps would be much easier than making our own."

"All these things would be up near the top of the castle. I know you, me, Quincy and Desmond are all probably good climbers, but even with ropes of some kind that might be a difficult climb for Saveaux or Kima." Biara said. "Still, you may be on to something with the castle defenses."

"That is a problem, getting everybody down safely." The stoat frowned. "Depending on where we did it, we might also wind up in the moat. I'm trying to remember how much water was in the moat, or if I saw anything dangerous in or around it, but I wasn't paying that much attention to it, to be quite honest."

"That might not help us very much. When someone falls from a high height, water can actually be quite hard. I once got a pair of drunk squirrels who dared one another to jump off of a cliff into a lake. One broken leg and several fractures between them. One leg had to be amputated. That was a…unique experience." The marteness smiled slyly, probably enjoying the memory of what must have been some rather shrill screaming on the part of the treejumpers in question.

"Oh. Okay, back to the drawing board on that. Did you ever had a case where where somebeast fell into something like a well or a ditch and you had to get them out?" Nallmian asked.

"Yes. And I think I see where you're going with that question. It would be hard to rig up some sort of mechanism to lower beasts down on stretchers or similar. Hard, but maybe not impossible. The main problem would be what would happen if the servants were less detained than we thought and attacked the pairs of paws holding the ropes, in which case the descent would become less than gentle."

"Well, at least it's a start. That would be good for getting Saveaux and anyone else who was a poor climber out. And Saveaux would have no problem at all once he got down to water level, would you, Saveaux?" Nallmian turned to Saveaux, who pulled out his parchment and began to write. Nallmian took the piece of paper and read it.

"We're called amphibians for a reason."

"True, that. Oh, by the way Saveaux," Nallmian turned all the way around to face Saveaux, and leaned in closer to eye level. "Thank you for thinking up the idea of the makeshift funeral. It was good for morale, and anyways…well, it's the closest thing any of them is likely to have to the real thing. And they deserved for someone to remember them. They didn't ask for this to happen. It wasn't their fault that some crazy owl picked them to do this lunatic experiment. You did the right thing Saveaux, which is usually more than the rest of us can say about ourselves."

The newt wrote something else, which Nallmian then read. "Thank you. I'm glad that you understood. I was concerned about having you and Quincy interact so soon after your fight. Thank you for understanding how important this was."

Nallmian smiled. "Well, I can't say something like this was a pleasure. But hordesbeasts like giving their fallen a proper send off as much as Long Patrol hares, so if doing so meant breathing the same air as Quincy, that's just the way it was going to be. Some things have to come first in times like these."

"The funeral was a lovely idea. Thank you, Saveaux." Biara added. "How are you feeling now? You seemed rather tired out earlier. Has your condition improved?" The newt nodded.

Nallmian stretched his arms, wincing slightly. "I don't know about him, but I'm definitely still feeling the punches and kicks from earlier. I'm really getting tired of having these dead-eyed domestics wallop me about. First Jeremy, and then the ones who intercepted us at the gate.

Biara's ears perked up. "Oh! I have just the thing for that." Rummaging through her satchel, the marteness' paw came out with a tea bag. "This should do the trick…"

A short while later, Nallmian was drinking a cup of freshly brewed tea of some kind. The stoat didn't find the flavor to be particularly delicious, but supposed that its main purpose was not to taste good. As long as it helped his bruised muscles to feel better, that would be enough. Shortly after drinking the tea, the stoat did indeed feel somewhat less achy. However, he was also beginning to feel a little odd. He didn't quite notice how closely Biara was watching him.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I think I've had about enough of this stuffy, dusty library. I think I'll head back to my room now," the marteness said.

Nallmian shrugged. "Fair enough. I guess I'll go back up too. Saveaux?"

The newt nodded, and the three began to gather up their things to leave. Nallmian took a history of the castle and a set of Saveaux's improvised schematics to find clues to the locations of murder holes and other possibly useful defensive features.  
Nallmian arrived back in his room, and flopped down on the barely used bed with a history of the castle. He tried to search the tome for references to how the castle had been defended in past years, but found it harder and harder to focus on or retain what he was reading. The stoat shook his head sharply, trying to clear it. He had slept not that long ago, but had been cutting back sharply on usage of the brown powder, of which he now had a disturbingly low supply. The stoat weighed using some now versus saving it for a real emergency, and decided he couldn't afford to use it now, he had to just try to stay awake, stay awake, stay---

Several horrific dream deaths later, Nallmian woke up with a scream after particularly horrible scenario involving bugs hatching in his stomach and eating their way out. The stoat slowly became aware of just how bad it had been this time. In his sleep he had clawed right into his own chest, and his tunic had several holes ripped in it, and his claws were warm and slick with his own blood. It took the stoat a few moments to register where he was. And then he saw Biara.

The stoat felt a sharp upwelling of embarrassment surge through him, ears flattening. "B-Biara, what are…I mean howuut…why….whaztsareyouding,.." the stoat sputtered. The pine marteness was calmly sitting in a chair next to the bed watching him. She must have seen him thrashing about, possibly screaming, certainly clawing himself bloody.

"I guess you don't sleep very well, Nallmian," Biara said calmly. "I was wondering about that."

"Well, I mean, it's not—you see—I uh, I fell asleep, so I was sleeping and uh, I had, had a…dream, which is what beasts do when they sleep, only it wasn't…I mean, it was bad, so it wasn't a good dream because it was bad and I…didn't sleep goo—well because of the, the, the dream screaming thing." The stoat was horribly aware of just how incoherent his babbling was. He felt a knot building up in his stomach as Biara just continued to watch him.

"Interesting. So I guess I was right about the brown powder," Biara mused.

"The brown—no, I mean, yes, but not…I mean, yeah, everybody gets nightmares, only mine are really bad and they happen a lot and I probably sound like a complete ponce right now so maybe I should just shut up and quit digging the hole deeper." The stoat said glumly. Then suddenly he looked up. "Wait a minute…you didn't…I mean, you wouldn't have put something in…" The stoat's face fell as he put it together.

"Well, I might have put something in the tea. Come on, you've been using that weird powder from the start, and I wanted to see if I was right about my theory. It's actually quite an interesting case."

"But we…I…did you really do that to me just to test a theory? You couldn't ask, you just decided to slip me something, too? But… we've been working together since the second day…I thought we were... you don't just…" A dejected Nallmian suddenly got up. "I have something I need to go do. Very urgent, very important, and very not around here!" The stoat practically ran for the door, ignoring what Biara started to say.

The stoat found himself wandering around a bit aimlessly. He knew there probably was something productive he could do, but weighed the option of getting something done versus the option of indulging in a little self pity, and decided on the latter. He finally wound up in the library and practically flopped down on one of the couches, feeling rather miserable, seeping in a mix of embarrassment, hurt and shock. He couldn't believe Biara had just turned him into an experiment like that. Other guests, yes, servants, yes, him, no. He and the marteness and the newt had been a team since the day after they got there. He and Biara had put their heads together over strategy, mulled plans, shared jokes, toyed with the castle servants. Biara was his friend…but why had she had to pull the stupid experiment with making him sleep?

He was also thoroughly embarrassed at her having seen him at his weakest and most vulnerable, acting like a kit, really, screaming, clawing himself up…he could still feel his own blood on his claws. What must she think of him now? She probably thought it pathetic that a grown stoat would act like that. How would he explain about the dream terrors? Would it even matter?

The stoat tossed and turned a bit on the couch, stomach still churning. If anybody else had done something like that to him he might well have taken a knife to them, or at least bloodied their muzzle, but currently he found himself feeling as much sadness as anger. The stoat's tail thrashed back and forth. Why did Biara have to do that to him? He had many vices, but disloyalty to the relatively few beasts he did respect was not one of them. And yet, first there had been the question of whether Lord Whitefire had knowingly sacrificed him to Falliss, and now Biara, his close ally and one of only two guests whose safety truly meant anything to him went and cavalierly exploited a weakness like this out of curiosity. Yet despite this, he couldn't bring himself to really wish her ill.

Nallmian sighed as he shifted position yet again on the couch that would have been comfortable under any other circumstances. Had he misjudged Biara? Did she care about him less than he did about her? For that matter, what about Saveaux? Nallmian had noticed the newt looking at him oddly once or twice earlier. When Quincy had asked Saveaux about joining his group instead of Nallmian and Biara, the newt had taken just a moment too long to answer for Nallmian's tastes. What if the newt was up to something untoward of his own? Normally Nallmian would not have believed it, but if Biara, Biara, of all the guests, could do something like that to him, who knew what Saveaux might be doing?

The stoat snarled as he tossed and turned some more on the couch, anger bubbling up as her further pondered the marteness' exploitative experiment. Exactly why the 'gates did she think she had the right to just drop herbs into his food and drink because she was curious about his sleeping problems. It was none of her business. How could she have done that to him, after everything they had done together? Maybe he shouldn't have expected any more of someone who did, after all, seem not to hesitate very much to pull rather mean tricks on others. But dammit, why HIM? Where did that tart get the gall to think he was just a toy for her amusement? The stoat flattened his ears as he rolled back over onto his stomach, paws seeking out and finding a cushion from the couch. It was a bright red, satiny thing, with frilly edges. Shredding it ws delightful, and the torn fabric and disemboweled stuffing felt wonderful on Nallmian's claws. But ultimately it really didn't make him feel much better, so he flung it away and decided to continue to sulk.

He hated this, he really did. Nallmian was used to a fairly black and white universe, one where there was his side and the other side and not a lot in between. This Manichean view of life might have been a little bit of an oversimplification at times, but it sure beat the stuffing out of this awful, gnawing ambiguity. The stoat's stomach was still tightened into a tense, angry knot as the irate, hurt mustelid sat by himself in the middle of the abandoned library. He was still sitting like that a few minutes later when the library doors opened, and a lone otter in servant garb walked in, something held just out of view behind his back.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm being deep here?" the stoat snapped. Idiot servant was probably going to admonish him for destroying the pillow.

"Captain Nallmian, your conduct during the experiment has been extremely disruptive. We cannot allow your wanton destruction of property and staff members to continue." The otter's voice was still a bit on the monotonous side, but Nallmian was sure that he heard a tension in the voice, an anger, that was not at all characteristic of the servants. The otter's body language was tenser than the usual calm mien of the servants, and his whole demeanor immediately raised a red flag in Nallmian's head.

Nallmian had a feeling that there was about to be trouble, and mantled over the couch, coming up behind it in a standing position and trying to keep the furniture between him and the otter. He knew from experience that otters were much more muscular than stoats, and after the fight with Jeremy he would never again underestimate the servants. The stoat felt conflicted between wanting the otter to just go away and leave him alone, and the possibility that a good brawl would bring him out of his slump. Or put him out of his misery permanently. Looking at the otter, he decided the otter was probably either part of Jeremy's security detail, or else some sort of manual laborer rather than a housekeeper. His arms and chest were even more muscled than most otters, and his paws looked rough and callused.

"Your behavior has forced us to take…unusual countermeasures to prevent further damage to health, safety and property." The otter's monotonous façade was slipping further. He was definitely angry. "If you comply, this can be done quickly and easily. If you resist, you may experience significant discomfort." At this, the otter produced from behind his back a wood axe. Nallmian's eyes widened as he jumped out of the way of a swing that would have split his skull open and splattered his brains across the floor if he hadn't dodged. The otter jumped onto the couch and prepared to jump over it, but Nallmian kicked the couch, shifting it and causing the otter to stumble. The stoat quickly ran away from the couch and managed to vanish into the rows of bookshelves.

The stoat was half expecting the room to fill with servants as he hid behind a shelf of books, but no more came in. He thought about the unusually manifest anger he had seen in the otter's eyes, the harsher tone of voice creeping up under the monotone, the reference to "unusual" countermeasures…could this otter be acting on his own…but not, he had said "we" more than once. The stoat decided to solve this mystery later, if there was a later, as he played a deadly game of hide and seek with the otter amongst the bookshelves. He heard a thunderous crash as the otter apparently shoved over a bookshelf, which then crashed into another bookshelf and knocked it over as well. The stoat hurriedly stepped away from the bookshelf he had hidden behind, retreating deeper into the rows. He would have to find some way of outflanking the otter if he didn't want to meet a similar fate to that mousemaid, Raine.

Nallmian chanced a glance around the corner of a bookshelf, and saw the otter was not looking in his direction. He quickly moved behind another bookshelf, pressing his back against it. He moved to the edge and peeked out again. No otter in sight. The stoat frowned and began to move the other way, away from the aisle, when suddenly the head of the axe ripped through the bookshelf right in front of his face. The stoat gasped and stepped back, but then realized what was about to happen as the otter threw his weight against the other side of the bookshelf. The stoat ducked under the still lodged axehead and threw himself forward, managing to roll past the edge of the bookshelf with the axe lodged in it just as that shelf came crashing down, axe still embedded in the side that had been away from Nallmian. The stoat stood and turned as the otter jumped out and landed on top of the knocked over bookcase, a heavy book in paw.

Nallmian ripped a knife out of his harness and threw it at the otter, but the servant reacted quickly , holding up the book to shield himself. The knife thudded into the book, which the otter then threw, knife and all, at Nallmian, who ducked under the rather un-aerodynamic projectile. The otter then reached down to pull the axe out of the shelf, but Nallmian, who wanted the axe to stay out of play, pulled another knife and rushed the otter, holding it underpaw and swinging downward. The otter dropped the axe handle and blocked Nallmian's forearm with his own, pushing it away and chopping down on Nallmian's paw, knocking the knife to the floor, then sending a right hook that connected painfully with the stoat's head.

The otter sent two more solid blows into Nallmian, both of which hurt considerably, and knocked away the stoat's punches with ease. Nallmian finally managed to duck a roundhouse and send a thrusting kick to the chest. The otter's obliques shifted any real damage away, but the kick did push the otter far enough back to allow Nallmian to grab another dagger. He swung the knife and managed to make a cut to the otter's side, before stabbing the otter deep in the arm. The otter bellowed, and charged Nallmian, knocking the stoat to the ground. His uninjured arm crashed into the stoat's face once, then twice, producing blood and a lot of pain. The otter slammed his fist down into Nallmian's shoulder. The stoat yelled in pain as the heavy blow struck the still painful bruise from when Jeremy had fought with Nallmian. The otter hauled Nallmian up with his good paw and hurled him down the aisle. The stoat's body screamed in protest as he crashed into a book shelf and fell to the ground. The otter paused and ripped the stoat's knife out of his right arm, producing a surprisingly heavy blood flow. It didn't spray, but it was rather copious, and the otter looked rather taken aback at the bleeding. Nallmian tried to struggled to his footpaws, but the otter walked up and kicked him solidly in the ribs, dropping the stoat again.

The lutrine snarled down at Nallmian, no longer maintaining the illusion of a monotone. "You think we're nothing but things, things that you can break at your leisure." The otter turned and walked over to where the wood axe was still in the bookshelf. The otter pulled it out, but as he stood up, he suddenly staggered backwards, then regained his balance, swaying slightly. The blood loss was starting to take its toll. The otter began to move towards Nallmian, but more slowly than before, giving the stoat just enough time to pull his last dagger, struggle up and rush the otter with all his might. Weakened as he was, the otter raised the axe for an overhand strike but was too slow to hit Nallmian with the axe and went down on his back as the stoat hit him. The stoat stabbed the lutrine once, twice, thrice, in the chest, until the otter stopped struggling and just lay there, not dead but too weak to continue fighting. The stoat stood, covered in blood, clothes torn, fur matted, body aching, but still alive. He kicked the otter's axe away, and leaned against a wall, trying to regain his breath.

"That…that…that was…aagh!" The stoat winced in pain and clapped a paw to his aching side. "I like a good brawl, but that might have been too much of a good thing. You put up one hell of a struggle compared to the others." The beleaugured mustelid managed to crack a smile. "Still, a win's a win, otter. You can sit there and die. I'm going to go find Biara and get her to patch—" The stoat's smile faded as he remembered exactly why he had run off to the library in the first place. "Oh. At least, maybe I will." The stoat frowned. "I guess you broom and linens types don't know much about arguments and the like do you? You just kind of float along, just doing your tasks and not noticing or caring very much." The stoat suddenly laughed. "Why am I even speaking aloud, you're about to die in a few---"

The otter gasped out something Nallmian couldn't understand, his voice fading, blood pooling aroung him. The stoat gave him a quizzical look, and moved closer, kneeling down next to him.

"Not…not as..lifeless, as you…you think, Nallmian," the otter gasped out. "Not going to sit around, let you kill all of us and get a…get away with it. There's more…like me…gone to find you and Biara…looking for you. You…you'll die here, stoat. Maybe the others will do what I couldn't"

Nallmian snarled. "'Gates, what are you talking about? Since when do any of you get angry? Since when do you go rogue?"

The otter coughed, sending a small spurt of blood into the stoat's face, which the mustelid wiped off with distaste. "Not…not quite as...without souls…as you think. Some m-m-more than o—thers." The otters voice was beginning to sound wet and phlegmy. The stoat must have nicked one of his lungs. It was filling up with blood.

"So what, a few of you decided to take this into your own paws?" Nallmian shook his head. "Seasons, can this day get any worse than it already has?" The stoat turned turned back to the otter. The lutrine clearly didn't have much time left, was probably in awful pain. The merciful thing to do would be to just kill him. But Nallmian just wasn't feeling very merciful.

The exhausted stoat meandered across the large library to the other side, where he wouldn't have to look at the otter. He plopped down in a chair, wincing as bruised muscles and aching ribs screamed in protest, and considered his options. The otter had said that others had gone after Biara. Should he go help her or not? After what she had done to him earlier, the stoat was almost tempted to let her deal with the problem herself, and if the servants killed her, that was that. The stoat's stomach tightened into a knot again and his teeth clenched within his jaw as the full weight of what Biara had done returned. It would serve her right for him to just sit here and relax while she got knifed by irate domestics. But they had been through so much since being trapped in together. But she had just casually played games with one of his most serious insecurities...But she was his teammate, they had fought side by side and made the same enemies and protected Saveaux together...But,but, but. The stoat snarled again. Why did life have to get complicated just when it was most inconvenient.

Yet the bottom line was, the thought of Biara actually being killed by the servants, far from being satisfying to think about, just made the stoat feel even worse. The stoat rested his head on a bloody paw, getting a few smears of red on his face as well. Mostly he just felt tired. Tired, and in pain, and weary of this whole moronic situation. The stoat was used to fair fights, or at least reasonably fair fights. This was nothing even close to fair.

Nallmian sighed. He couldn't just forget about how Biara had taken him at his most vulnerable and used that vulnerability as a toy. But the fact of the matter was, trying to indulge in wishing ill on Biara was not making him feel better, it was making him feel worse. Biara was still the closest thing he really had to a friend here. They had laughed, killed and plotted together, and thoroughly enjoyed it. What more could a vermin ask for? How many vermin even got that much? The stoat stood up, his mind made up.

Although his legs began to scream as he reached the second floor, Nallmian forced himself to run up thr stairs and through the halls, looking for where Biara might have gone. Finally, his ears caught the sound of a struggle outside of Biara's room, and the stoat barreled inside, knives at the ready. He couldn't help but smile just a little bit as he saw the inside of the room. Biara had already killed two of the attacking servants,a rat and a squirrel, who both lay on the floor in pools of blood, and the other three, a weasel , a fox and a mouse, were hesitating.

The marteness looked slightly surprised to see Nallmian, but quickly suppressed the expression. She just nodded to the stoat, and then looked back at the servants, tightening her grip on the large dagger she was carrying.

"Excuse me, miss, are these ruffians bothering you?" Nallmian said, managing a small smile.

"Why, yes they are, Captain." Biara also smiled slightly. "I don't suppose you could help me…deal with them?"

"Of course," Nallmian said in response, heavy limbs lightening just a little bit. It didn't take long for the two mustelids to make short work of the remaining three servants, and then it was just the two of them standing in the midst of the bloody mess in the middle of the room.

Nallmian looked at Biara, smile beginning to falter a bit now that the fight was over. Things could either get significantly better or significantly worse depending on what was about to happen. "So…ah, I guess we have something to talk about, now."

The marteness looked just a little bit uncomfortable, probably not looking forward to this particular conversation. "So it would seem."

"I've ah…had these, these, nightmares, I guess, for a long, long time. Remember I mentioned being captured by those woodlander rebels, the Freedom's Lances?"

Biara nodded. "Yes, you were in the middle of getting Dustin the mole to talk to us."

"Well, that's when it started. They…weren't very hospitable. 'Gates, they almost make Falliss seem benevolent by comparison. At least he put us up fairly nicely while waiting for us to die. A group of us escaped, but a lot of us died on the way back. Only a few of us got back to the main horde. After that…well, that was the last time I slept normally." All of this was not completely true. Nallmian had had the sleep terrors since he was a kit. But it was true that they had gotten markedly worse after his captivity, and he figured this was a better explanation than no explanation.

"What do you dream?"

"A lot of things. Painful, scary things that don't make a lot of sense. I've been using the brown powder you saw to try to avoid sleep as much as possible ever since, but I'm nearly out of it. I have to save it for an emergency. I tried to stay awake normally, but I guess that was a pretty stupid way of approaching it, since it never worked before I got the powder either."

To her credit, the marteness looked curious rather than scornful. Maybe, Nallmian hoped, this would be okay after all. "Well…that's an interesting way of approaching it. I've had a lot of patients who can't sleep and want to. They try all sorts of things to fall asleep. Usually, though, a nice cup of tea help them…oh," the marteness said. " I guess you don't want to hear about tea right now, do you?"

"No. That stunt with the tea…if anybody else had pulled that kind of chicanery on me I probably would have punched them into a pulp, or worse," the stoat said, anger creeping into his voice, his face creasing into a scowl. "I really don't like being tricked, and I sure as hell don't like being toyed around with for somebody else's amusement. There's more than enough of that going around already." The anger was back again, not perhaps, the same way it had been before, but still present, because the fact of the matter was that Biara had played with his trust in a way that he would not have been even close to tolerating with most others. A part of him wondered if he should even be having this conversation at all, or whether he should just stalk back out the door again and leave things hanging. But no, the stoat decided against it. He would see this through.

Biara didn't look intimidated or deeply remorseful, but Nallmian thought he saw the ghost of a wince in her features. "I know. When you ran out like that, I thought you were gone for good. What even happened to you? You look like something ate you and spit you up again."

The stoat laughed slightly, then winced in pain as his aching ribs and sore diaphragm reminded him what had happened in the library. "An otter showed up. One of the servants. We fought. He beat the stuffing out of me, but I did worse to him. As he was dying, he said a few of them had gotten it into their heads to stop us on their own. Believe it or not, I think a few of them actually are mad at the fact that we keep killing them. Who would have thought it?"

The stoat shook his head. "Anyways, he said that some others had gone to find you. And for a few minutes, I seriously considered just sitting in the library to mope and lick my wounds and just leave you to face the servants alone, the idea being that if you thought you could just use me as a guinea pig then you could deal with these things on your own from now on."

"But you didn't."

"No, no I didn't. I came back," the stoat said, face softening just a bit. "Because you are still the closest thing to friend that I have in this whole ridiculous mess. We've explored and fought and killed and saved and plotted and planned and laughed and just generally made this a little more bearable for each other. I do still care about helping you stay safe, about trying to make sure you can get out of here alive. I still want to be friends, I still want us to help each other get out of here."

Biara smiled. "Yes. I want that too. I…I'm sorry about the thing with the tea. Nothing like that will happen again, it was stupid and I shouldn't have done it, and that's the last time anything like that will happen. I want you to get out of here safely, also. And I..I'm glad we're still friends."

If Nallmian had been a cardsharp, or an actor, or even a better, more subtle interrogator, he might have noticed that Biara's face and voice during this exchange were just a tiny bit off, just a little bit different than what a normal creature's would be in this situation. If Nallmian had been a philosopher, or a student of the mind, perhaps he would have understood the idea that some creatures are just more distant from their fellows than would in any other be considered normal. But Nallmian was none of those things, and so he didn't have any of this knowledge, and so, in the midst of the blood and carnage from the fight that had just transpired, Nallmian was happy.


	59. Bury Our Friends

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 57. We All Get Together When We Bury Our Friends  
**

_by Biara  
_

It was some time after midnight that Biara found herself once again settling in to the library armchair, however, the circumstances were quite different than they had been before. For one thing, her bed was covered in blood, and it was rather distracting.

Another thing was Nallmian. The marten frowned. She should never have let herself get caught in the first place, but she hadn't expected the stoat to actually wake himself with his own thrashing. She had expected Nallmian to be angry, furious, maybe even attack her right then and there. What had really happened bothered the medic even more. His behavior was irrational and completely devoid of logic.

When Biara had heard the footfalls of somebeast entering her room, she was sure that it was the stoat. The marten supposed she was lucky to have not actually been asleep; five servants would have been extremely difficult to deal with herself even if she was awake, and she supposed that she should really had been rather grateful to Nallmian for assisting her. But she couldn't feel anything other than a vague pity. The only logical reason for the stoat to come back was that, being the only medic, Biara was simply too valuable to be killed. Biara knit her brow; it really didn't make any sense.

Yawning, the marteness closed her eyes. She had made sure to wash thoroughly so as to remove any incriminating stains in her fur and disinfect any scratches and slashes received during the fight, which had left the healer quite exhausted. But, she thought to herself with a smile, the experiment hadn't been a complete failure. Indeed, she had learned something much more useful about Nallmian's thought processes.

Biara would gladly be Nallmian's friend, as long as it continued to ensure her safety. The stoat's unconditional trust in her was foolish and illogical, but that's not to say that it wasn't still useful!

--

Biara took a tentative bite of a blueberry scone as she surveyed the breakfast table. At the very least, it didn't seem like the hardships Quincy had experienced had influenced his appetite, as the hare attacked his food with a vigor that only hares seemed to be capable of. It seemed that he was in better spirits than he had been the morning after the escape attempt, and Biara had to respect the young hare's resilience. Many beasts would have simply given into despair, and yet Quincy was still doing his very best, even if he was simply trying to make conversation over breakfast.

Most of the other beasts, however, nibbled quietly at their food and kept largely to themselves. Most of them spoke rarely, even Nallmian, although the stoat sent quick glares at Quincy when he was sure the hare wasn't looking. Biara wondered whether or not it was actually worse than the first night had been, when nobeast quite knew what to make of the entire situation. There was still plenty of tension hanging about, especially considering the fact that four beasts were no longer present.

_Wait a second._

The marteness did a quick head count. _That would be five; Kima's not here._ Somehow, it wasn't so very surprising. Biara glanced over to where Desmond was sitting, and the squirrel favored her with a subtle _I told you so_ smirk. The healer held back a snarl and slouched slightly in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. _Fair enough: You win this round, but watch your fluffy little hide._ She wondered about that, in particular, how it would feel to slice into such soft fur.

Still, he healer figured she might as well at least finish her scone first before she killed him.

Just like in the previous days, the end of breakfast was signified when beasts started trailing away to go about their own business. First Nallmian left, and then Saveaux followed shortly after. Biara caught Desmond's eye just as the squirrel was getting ready to leave and mouthed the word "lounge." Desmond nodded and flounced off.

Biara waited just a bit longer, watching Quincy. She hadn't really ever spoken with him, even now that they were some of the only guests left alive. She offered a tremulous smile. "How are you feeling, Quincy?"

"Considering the present circumstances, I s'pose I can't complain much," he said, with a smile. "My leg's already less painful to walk on, for one thing."

The marten nodded. "I was just about to ask, actually. It looks like you did a pretty good job of bandaging it, yourself. Does the Long Patrol training include any works in the healing arts?"

Quincy considered. "Well, I guess you could say that. We get mostly basic training, first aid and all that, just to make sure we can take care of ourselves in case we get separated, or supplies are low." He shrugged, "Y'know, emergencies."

"I see," Biara said, thoughtfully. She wiped her lips with her pawkerchief and stood up. "Well, I need to check on my supplies. Just remember, if that wound does get any worse, or you need any extra assistance, please don't hesitate to come and ask," she said.

Quincy nodded, and goodbeast and vermin made their goodbyes before Biara strode purposefully from the dining hall and made her way to the lounge where Desmond was pacing somewhat agitatedly.

He stopped as soon as he saw the marteness. "Did you kill her last night?"

"No, I didn't." The marten shook her head. "You're right, though," she admitted. "Kima's dangerous. I smelled blood in her room, although the lack of any fresh stains meant that she most likely didn't do any killing there. Still, she made it quite clear that she's not going to let professionalism hold her back from going after any of us." Biara tilted her head. "She did get over that cold marvelously, though. I would have given a beast like her a few more days at least."

"Oh wonderful," Desmond snapped. "Who cares if the psychotic killer could be lurking anywhere in the castle, as long as she's feeling better."

Biara flattened her ears. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Desmond," she said, trying to keep her rising temper under control. "She might have missed breakfast because she felt like sleeping in, for all we know." The squirrel didn't look convinced, but didn't say anything, so the healer continued. "If you're so concerned, we could always try and find her through the mirror-passageways."

Desmond nodded, although he still looked somewhat uneasy. "That, at last, sounds sensible. Where do you think she'd be?"

"Well, we might as well try her room first," Biara said with a shrug. "Then if she's not there, I don't think it'd be too difficult to find her assuming we don't get caught."

That didn't seem to do much for the squirrel's nerves. "You didn't come across anybeast when you used the passageways before, did you?"

The marteness shook her head. "No. I think that as long as we're careful, we should be just fine." She peered inquisitively at the squirrel. "What are you so nervous about, anyway? It's not like you're completely defenseless, you know."

"Yes, I know that," Desmond responded irritably, "but unlike _somebeast_ I know, I prefer not resorting to violence at any welcome opportunity."

Biara simply smiled in response. _Entirely too easy._ "Of course." With that, the tall marten turned and started scanning the lounge. "Now let's find out where the entrance to the passages is, shall we?"

It didn't take long until Desmond found the entrance way, which had been hidden behind a large portrait of a regal-looking wildcat on the wall. Once inside, the passageway was somewhat narrow, so that the two beasts had to travel in single file. Desmond appeared to be even more uncomfortable in the enclosed space. "You really didn't see anybeast here before?" He hissed to Biara, who was walking in front.

"If there is, I suppose we'll find out soon enough!" Biara whispered cheerfully back. The squirrel muttered something to himself, but otherwise remained silent.

Luckily, it appeared that none of the watcher servants were about, and the only beast in the servant's quarters was a ferret, who appeared to be napping. Biara came across some crude steps which she assumed led up to the second floor and mentioned them to Desmond.

Sort of.

"Ow!" Desmond sucked in a breath. "I tripped on something!"

Biara glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, watch out for the stairs, Desmond!"

"Very funny," the squirrel mumbled.

As soon as the two would-be assassins arrived at the second floor, Biara stopped suddenly, flicking her ears forward.

"Why have we stopped?" Desmond hissed urgently. "Is there anybeast ahead?"

Biara shut her eyes tightly. "No, but I hear voices."

The squirrel smirked. "Do you hear these voices often?"

Making an irate "shushing" noise, the marten slowly padded forward until she was standing behind a mirror overlooking what seemed to be one of the guest rooms, although it didn't appear to be lived in at all. However, the rattess and squirrel who were talking inside were distinctly familiar. Both looked quite concerned about something.

"…And furthermore," Agatha said, "if she's allowed to go back to her duties like this, the sickness will only spread."

Biara's ears stood straight up. She leaned forward eagerly. _Who's sick? What manner of illness? What are the symptoms, I wonder?_

"What do you propose we do, Agatha?" Jeremy's face didn't look any better for wear, and Biara felt a flush of pride as she looked over the damage. "She's been abed for nearly three days now, and it doesn't look like she's getting much better."

"What are you doing?"

Biara started, whipping her head around to find a thoroughly annoyed Desmond looking expectantly back at her. "We don't have time for this."

"B-but somebeast is sick!" Biara whispered back.

"A tragedy, I'm sure," Desmond sneered, "but unless you've forgotten, we were looking for a murderer."

Biara grit her teeth and unsheathed her claws. She was about to hiss back a reply when suddenly Desmond's ears pricked up.

"Hold on," the male said. The marten was on the verge of saying something, but this time it was Desmond's turn to "shush" her. The marteness' ears lay flat against her skull and she lashed her tail viciously, but remained silent.

"…Can't lose Helena."

Desmond's jaw dropped.

"Helena…" the squirrel mumbled.

The marten briefly wondered who exactly this Helena was. _Oh, right_, she thought, remembering the first conversation she had with Desmond. _Well, it doesn't matter who she is. What matters is that she's sick, and it's my duty to help her._

Before Desmond could stop her, Biara was grappling with the mirror. On the other side, Jeremy rolled his eyes.

"Those new watchers are as useless as kits," he muttered, gripping the mirror firmly and turning it. His eyes widened and then narrowed as soon as he saw who was on the other side. "You." There was a barely suppressed snarl in the squirrel's voice.

Biara smiled pleasantly in response. "I can help her, you know."

Jeremy snorted. "Have you no decency at all, Miss Biara?"

"Perhaps not," the marten said quietly, "but it looks as if I'm the only beast here who's trained to work with the sick and injured."

The squirrel glared. "Yes, and we all know how you work, marten." He took a menacing step forward. "I'll have you know that you are not the only beast who can hurt others. Your tactics are clever, but I can do far worse."

"Jeremy, stop for a moment," Agatha said. The squirrel did so, turning back to glance questioningly at the rattess. "Perhaps she could help."

"Absolutely not," Jeremy said, firmly. "Surely you must know by now that the guests, this one in particular, are not to be trusted."

Agatha nodded. "Granted. However, what harm could it do? There is nothing that she'll learn to assist her or the other guests in any sort of way, and if you are there to watch over her work, I'm quite certain that everything should be just fine."

The squirrel closed his eyes tightly for a moment, but at length he sighed resolutely. "Fine. I will escort her there and back, but that is all."

"Excuse me for asking," Biara said, "but how do I know that you won't simply kill me when we get there?"

Jeremy's eyes narrowed. "Trust me, Miss Biara, I'd love nothing better than to do just that, but the Professor's orders are to be obeyed at all costs," he gritted. "Now, I assume you've got all your supplies with you, so if that's everything—"

"No, it's not."

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at Desmond. _Oh, I nearly forgot about him…_ Biara thought wistfully. The squirrel looked quite irritated.

"Pardon?" Jeremy asked, raising an undamaged eyebrow.

Desmond elaborated. "I'm coming with her."

"Excuse me, but I'm afraid you are not." Jeremy was clearly not amused. "There is absolutely no reason for you to come."

"Yes there is," Desmond countered.

Biara watched with interest. Both squirrels were masters of the art of glaring, it seemed.

The younger squirrel continued. "I was invited with the pretense that I would meet Helena. Therefore, it should be my right to be able to do just that." He paused for a moment. "Er, Helena is the Professor's niece, is she not?"

Agatha smiled lightly. "If she is, then she's his adopted niece. She is a squirrel, like you and Jeremy." Desmond nodded, as if satisfied.

"I'm coming too," he said simply, crossing his arms.

Jeremy and Biara both looked as if they were about to protest when Agatha nodded. "Let him come, Jeremy."

The squirrel nearly lost his composure. "What is the meaning of this, Agatha? Have you forgotten that I am head servant here?"

"No." The rattess shook her head. "But again, what harm will it do? If Sir Desmond can just see Helena once, the promise will be fulfilled and that will be the end of it."

Jeremy nodded quickly. "Very well."

Desmond looked very pleased with himself, but Biara was starting to feel somewhat nervous. _He gave in much too quickly._ But she couldn't run now! Not when there was an unknown sickness that needed to be dealt with. It was probably serious. Maybe she would need to perform surgery? The tall marten's tail curled pleasurably, all anxiety forgotten.

"Here."

Biara blinked, looking down at the pawkerchief thrust her way. "Pardon me?"

"If you would be so kind as to tie this around your eyes," Jeremy lectured dryly, "then I will escort you to the patient."

Desmond and Biara complied quickly, and soon thereafter they were both ushered swiftly away through what Biara assumed were the mirror-passages. The marteness tried to keep track of the turns and bends they took, but eventually gave up and just kept her ears pricked and tried to avoid tripping or stumbling as much as possible, even as they ascended another set of crude stairs. After what seemed like a long time, they stopped. "You may remove the blindfolds."

Both guests did so. From what she could deduce from a quick scan of the room, it looked a bit like a guest room, although just a little nicer. Lying in a bed, swathed in blankets, was the squirrel maid Helena. She opened one eye, and then painfully raised herself to a sitting position. "J-Jeremy?"

Biara couldn't help the smile that spread from ear to ear as she looked the sick squirrelmaid over, and then noticed that Jeremy was looking right at her. The marten cleared her throat in a businesslike manner. "Right, then. I'll, er, begin right away."


	60. Sing For Absolution

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 58. Sing For Absolution  
**

_by Desmond  
_

Desmond's paws shook when he tried to remove the pawkerchief from around his head, and he fumbled with the knot for several minutes before it came loose. She was _here_, in this room, if only he could get the blasted thing off…! At last, he got it undone, and it floated gently to the floor.

And there she was.

After wondering if she even existed for so long, Desmond couldn't help but stare. She was young, even compared to the other servants, and her frail, wan air only lent to that appearance. It was difficult to gauge her height, as she was swathed in thick blankets, but judging by her upper body, she was petite and slight. Her eyes were blue, like his own, he noted, but the most striking thing about her was that she looked familiar somehow. He just couldn't put his claw on how or why.

"…describe your symptoms?" Biara was querying as she rested her paw on the squirrelmaid's forehead for a moment to check for a fever.

Helena nodded and thought for a moment. "I get hot and cold in turns – one moment I'm burning up, the next I feel like I'm freezing. I'm exhausted all the time… and I've got a nasty cough…" She trailed off into a fit of hacking, almost as if to demonstrate the last. "Sorry," she apologized weakly.

"Perfectly fine," Biara brushed the apology away. "Let's have a look at your throat."

Desmond waited impatiently for the marten to finish peering into the squirrelmaid's mouth before he cleared his throat, but Helena beat him to speaking.

"You must be Desmond." She smiled slightly. "I've been dying to meet you."

"Oh?" Desmond smiled charmingly for lack of anything better to do. "I've rather been wanting to meet you, myself."

"Really? Me? How flattering…" she laughed, but her voice sounded weary and the chuckle turned into a cough.

"Perhaps you should give your throat a rest," Biara hinted, sending a meaningful glance to Desmond before returning to her work.

Desmond ignored her. "Pardon me, but… who are you?" he raised one eyebrow questioningly. "Falliss led me to believe you were his niece – er, adopted niece – but that doesn't seem to be the case."

A troubled look crossed her face. It struck Desmond as odd that she was so expressive, unlike the other servants – but perhaps Falliss's personal attendants weren't as expressionless as the others?

"I suppose you might call me his… adopted niece. He did take me in when I was younger." She shrugged. "Everything I have, I owe to him."

Desmond frowned. "Don't his little experiments bother you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, he's thrown a lot of beasts together and practically ordered them to murder each other and made it impossible not to do what he wants; don't you find that a bit disturbing?" His tone was skeptical.

"I'm sure he knows what he's doing," she said after a pause and glanced at Jeremy. The other male was watching everything with a permanent scowl etched onto his features. Desmond wondered if the head servant's face would heal that way and Jeremy would be left forever glowering at the world.

There was a short space of silence, broken by Biara. "Well, I'm afraid I can't find anything wrong," she admitted. "I can give you something for your cough, but I'd rather not begin treatment until I know what's wrong. Is there anything else you didn't tell me?"

Helena shook her head, fear in her gaze. "Nothing." She paused, and then asked painfully, "Do you think I'm dying?"

"Well, there doesn't seem to be any sign of it." Biara grinned. "Try resting for a few days and see if things improve." She dug through her bag and pulled out a small bottle made of brown-tinted glass. "Try taking a spoonful of this three times a day; it should do wonders for your cough." She set it on the nightstand and turned to Jeremy. "Also, there should really be a fire in here," she pointed out. "It's much too cold."

"It will be seen to," Jeremy agreed grudgingly. "Are you finished?"

Biara gathered her things. "Yes." She looked at Desmond questioningly.

"I suppose so," he muttered.

Jeremy had them replace the pawkerchiefs over their eyes before he led them from the room and back the way they'd come.

"You know," Biara mused as they took off the pawkerchiefs and found that Jeremy had led them back to the lounge before disappearing, presumably back into the passages, "I don't think there was anything wrong with her at all. Did you hear the way she coughed?"

Desmond hadn't found anything suspicious about it, but he shrugged noncommittally, not to appear unintelligent.

"Well, the cough syrup won't hurt her, anyway… Still, I hate to see it wasted." She frowned. "In any case, we seem to have gotten rather sidetracked from our mission."

Desmond nodded. "About that," he said thoughtfully, "I had an idea. Instead of finding her ourselves and risking our lives, why not use the badger?"

Biara smiled slightly, as if she knew something he didn't. "The assassin, you mean?"

"No, the dead one," Desmond shot back sarcastically. "Yes, of course the assassin. Think about it – if it worked, there'd be no way to know who was to blame, and there'd be no danger of our getting hurt in the process. All around, a comfortable arrangement."

The marten considered. "It's worth a try," she admitted. "Would you mind taking care of that? I'll tell you how to find him."

"Er," Desmond hesitated, "Maybe you'd better do it yourself."

"Don't be silly, Desmond. Some of us actually have work to do." She frowned at him. "I need to find Nallmian and make sure he's okay – he was hurt rather seriously by some of the servants."

Desmond sighed. "Fine," he grated. "Where did you say it was, again?"

*

Desmond went straight to the back of the museum, as Biara had instructed him, and after a few failed attempts, managed to open the hidden door that she'd described. The squirrel took a torch from the wall and stepped cautiously into the hallway, looking both ways to be sure no one else was waiting inside; finding the way clear, he continued in, creeping to the chamber at the end.

He stepped into the room and looked around nervously. The room was empty, on first glance, but when you peered into the shadows…

Oh _'Gates_.

It was the Thing from the night of the ball – the monster that had threatened him before Flynn somehow managed to make it leave.

And it was looking at _him._

Desmond bit back a yelp, stumbling backwards and almost dropping the torch in his alarm. After a moment of watching the badger suspiciously, he ventured into the room again and boldly walked up to the beast. Making sure to enunciate every word perfectly, he recited the worst insult he could think of and waited for a response.

There was none.

It was uncanny. Desmond shuddered, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end. He looked around helplessly for some sort of instruction; how in 'gates did you get the beast to work? He caught sight of a scrap of parchment nailed to the wall and snatched it off, holding it up to the light from his torch.

"Tombstone?" he murmured. "Rather obvious name." He studied the parchment for a moment and then dropped it, considering the rhyme written on it: "Tell it to kill and it will."

_Kima,_ he thought, dry mouthed. _Tell it to kill Kima._

He thought for a moment and smiled. But why stop at Kima?

"Tombstone," he said louder. He chuckled slightly, amused with the ingenuity of his plan. "Tombstone, kill Professor Falliss."

The badger was silent.

Desmond sighed. It had been worth a try, anyhow. The badger probably didn't work at all; it was all just some silly setup. Feeling he'd been cheated from a great accomplishment, the squirrel left the chamber, closing the doorway behind him.


	61. Go With The Flow

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 59. Go With The Flow  
**

_by Quincy  
_

_...to make it beautiful to live._

-------

After the funeral, Quincy plunked himself down upon his bed. The funeral service had been a simultaneously heartbreaking and rewarding affair, and that, combined with the failed escape and subsequent shameful scene in the dining hall left the hare emotionally exhausted. Saveaux had done little to instill the hare with confidence. Falliss had thus far gotten them at every turn. The ancient bird always seemed to be one step ahead of them. Who was to say that this plan would turn out any different?

Maybe Nallmian was right; maybe it all really could be chalked up to him being a bad leader. Quincy didn't really picture himself as a leader; at least, he had no burning desire to have the sort of power that generally came along with such a position, as Nallmian seemed to. More importantly, he never wanted anything bad to happen to any of the guests, which was the only reason he'd leapt to the fore in the first place. Maybe the guests _would_ be better off without him taking the lead in the future.

Quincy's leg still ached. As he leaned down to take a look at his wound the silver pendant of his necklace spilled out from the collar of his shirt. Quincy cradled the pendant in the palm of his paw, his eyes glazing over as he examined the encircled, leaping silver hare.

_"But...why can't I go with you, Uncle Corkren?"_

The leveret stood on big footpaws he'd not quite grown into yet, clutching his satchel as he gazed at his aunt and uncle, confusion in his round eyes. Behind him the fire mountain loomed, dwarfing the timid little hare in its ominous shadow.

"If we've told you once we've told you a thousand times, Quincy: Victoria and I are travelers. We're used to moving quickly over the countryside, and...well, that's no life for a spiffing young hare, now is it?"

Quincy knew his uncle meant to say he'd just slow them down, but he was determined to prove his worth. "I can run really fast with you, I know I can, see!"

He took an experimental leap forward and promptly tripped heavily over his oversize footpaws, sprawling onto the sand. His uncle hoisted him upright by the scruff of his neck, sighing as Quincy snorted a few stray grains of sand from his nose.

"Quincy, me lad, you'll be much better off at Salamandastron. Victoria and I, well, we just don't know the first thing about rearing offspring, I'm afraid. We were barely able to care for you in the season it took to get here. Trust me, you'll get a good upbringing here."

Quincy sniffled, feeling hot tears welling up in his eyes. "But, but I don't know anyone here! I'm afraid!"

"Oh Corkers," Victoria softly pled, clutching her husband's arm, "maybe he's just not ready yet...He did just lose his parents, after all."

But Corkren was resolute. "No, Victoria, I insist the lad will be better off here."

His stiff upper lip softened a bit when the leveret began to weep properly, big tears carving rivulets down his cheeks. Sighing once more, Corkren knelt down and looked Quincy in the eye. "Look, Quince, I know it might seem scary at first, but I know you'll make friends."

"But what if no one likes me?" Quincy sniffed, rubbing at his damp eyes.

"They'll like you, Quincy, don't be ridiculous. Here, I've been meaning to give this to you. Take good care of it; it was your father's." Corkren reached into his pocket and pulled out a pendant on a long silver chain. Hanging it round the young hare's neck, he said, "This got passed down to my brother from old Orin Two-Leap, your great grandfather. Orin got the name Two-Leap because they say he could leap the distance of two hares in one bound, or straight over a foe's head in battle. He was a fierce and shrewd warrior and he led his troops fearlessly into battle. Over time the name's gotten shortened to Tulep, but the reputation hasn't changed a whit. You've got Tulep blood in you, laddie buck, which means you'll grow up to be big and brave, a true leader like Orin. You'll do great things someday, Quincy, mark my words."

The small hare still clutched the pendant to himself with one paw even as his aunt and uncle were mere shimmering dots in the distance.

Quincy clutched the pendant to his chest once more, feeling the cool metal slowly take on the warmth of his fur. If only Uncle Corkren and Auntie Vicky could see him now, trapped in this house of death with hope and numbers dwindling by the day. He wondered if his father or Orin had ever had to deal with a situation like this, and if they ever felt the same sort of despair.

Quincy held the pendant tightly that night, until he fell asleep and it finally slipped from his grasp.

* * *

After breakfast the next morning, Quincy met Saveaux in a room just off the kitchen. The newt pointed to a small crawl space in the back of the room that Saveaux could have fit into relatively easily, but it would be a tight squeeze for the hare.

"D...ummmmmb...w-aaiiiiiterrrr," he croaked.

"Er, a what now?"

Quincy waited while Saveaux wrote on a scrap of parchment and then handed it to him.

_"This dumbwaiter is the only other known entrance to the breeding room, and it will not be observed as closely as the other entrance will surely be by now. I shall lower you down and wait for you to enact your part of the plan."_

"Oh, right," he said, still eyeing the dumbwaiter warily. "Well, I guess I'd best be off then. See you later, old chap."

Getting down on all fours, the hare crawled into the tight space, tucking a protruding ear inside. He watched Saveaux as the newt began to pull on a rope. As the gears creaked and the small box began to descend, their eyes met briefly. Biara's words suddenly echoed in his head. _"...You should have figured out much earlier that it was a bad idea to put so much trust in the servants. You seemed so convinced that those particular servants were trustworthy, but you were very, very wrong about them..."_ Was he making the same huge mistake he had in trusting Vincent? Saveaux seemed to be souring on his old group, but it all could be one elaborate trick. Saveaux could just stop the dumbwaiter in between floors and leave Quincy to suffocate, and then he'd go running off to Nallmian, who would laugh cruelly and claim the castle was better off without him. Then he'd be out of their way, and they'd be free to poison the servants, all of them, even Jolice and her mother...

As the dumbwaiter dropped below floor level and all went black around him a wave of panic welled up in Quincy's breast, but he fought it down. There wasn't time to think or examine or test. There was only time to act, not to stand idly by and let the rest of them die one by one. Nallmian seemed perfectly content to do so, but not Quincy Tulep.

It seemed an eternity before a faint crack of light appeared at the bottom of the dumbwaiter, slowly rising. It was only when the relief set in that Quincy remembered the plan. He tumbled from the dumbwaiter with a dramatic cry.

"Oy!" cried a rat. "That ain't food..."

Quincy lay prostrate on the cool stone floor, beating it with his fists and crying out in what he hoped was convincing anguish. "That lying, cheating bird!"

"Quincy! Oh Quincy, it's you! What's wrong?"

Quincy was overjoyed to hear Jolice's voice and felt her paws on his back. She was still alive then, just a prisoner like the rest. Jolice helped hoist him up to a sitting position, but Quincy knew if he looked at her he would give himself away. Instead he buried his face in his paws, moaning.

"Oh, it was horrible! So...so much blood! There was an argument last night. Biara, she, she began to undermine Nallmian's authority, said she was tired of being forced to do his bidding and they started to fight, right there in the dining hall! The other guests rushed to their aid but then...oh, the blood! They all tore into each other tooth and nail. I just barely got away, and then, when I came back with some servants to stop it, they...they..."

"What? What is it?" Jolice asked, her voice shrill with urgency.

A quick peek through his paws showed the inhabitants of the breeding room were all gathered round, listening fearfully. Quincy gave another magnificent cry. "They were dead, every last one of them!"

Jolice was quiet for a moment as Quincy forced out even more sobs. "That's awful, but...then...doesn't this mean you can leave?"

Quincy finally looked up at her, contorting his face in anger (thinking about Nallmian was an excellent aid in making the rage look authentic). "Oh no, it's not that simple. I knew there would be a catch. I'm so stupid for believing that twisted old lunatic would keep his word. No, the Professor was angry with how his experiment turned out. Too many circumstantial deaths fouled up the results, he said. He told me I could leave...but only if I survived his next experiment."

Jolice gulped. "And...what is that?"

"You," he spat. "You all are his next experiment."

There rose a collective gasp, but Quincy trudged on doggedly. "I overheard him telling this to Jeremy just before they turfed me down in this bally place, but the Professor hasn't made up his mind whether he should go forward with it or not. Hmph, he stuffed me in the bloody dumbwaiter to boot. Apparently it was his idea of 'fun.' He's stuck me down here to cool my paws, but he's going to question me now and then about the details of our experiment. In a few days he will make his final decision."

"You mean," said a pine marten, "we're going to have to...do each other in?"

"Not if we do something about it," Quincy growled.

"What? What can we possibly do down here?" the marten smirked, rolling his eyes. "We've got no weapons or anything. We're like sitting ducks. Even if we do nothing to each other, we heard how the Professor was going to kill you randomly if you didn't do anything. It's only a matter of time before we're dead."

There were many nods of agreement.

"Oh, come on, you lot!" Jolice urged. "I'm sure there's _something_ we can do."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," said the mouse Quincy remembered was named Hector. "We don't even know if the Professor is going to go ahead with the plan. I think we should have a meeting later to discuss this in depth. In the meantime, Quincy must be awfully shaken from his ordeal. Jolice, can you get him some tea? I'll show him to an empty room."

Hector led Quincy to a bedroom off the chamber. It was a bit small and cramped, though cozy in a rustic sort of way. As soon as the mouse shut the door, he whirled around to face Quincy, his face deadly serious.

"The newt sent you, didn't he?"

That was the last question Quincy was suspecting. "What? Saveaux, you mean?"

"Yes, of course I mean Saveaux!" said Hector. "I've been leaving him notes ever since he entered the castle. I was beginning to worry he didn't get my last hasty message telling him the Professor was about to throw me down here after finding out about my plan..."

Hector trailed off at the sound of the door creaking open, but it was just Jolice arriving with Quincy's tea. The hare accepted it and sipped the piping liquid, its warmth soothing him more than he'd expected.

"Jolice, I'm glad you're here," said Hector. "You can help us in our plan."

"What plan?" the haremaid asked.

Quincy explained all that Saveaux had told him to do. When he finished, Jolice sighed.

"I knew it couldn't all be over that quickly, not with the way you all walked on eggshells around each other. So what now? What do we do?"

Quincy's jaw tightened grimly. "We convince the servants down here to rise up against Falliss, that's what."


	62. I Am Justice

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 60. I Am Justice  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

_Uneventful,_ wrote the newt. _Desmond has done nothing inconspicuous as of yet causing me to wonder if today and yesterday's monitoring were for naught. This morning, I observed him at breakfast. He made no moves out of the ordinary save an extra spoon of sugar in his porridge. All other behavior was typical; he complained about the food, about why nobeast had passed him the sugar when he asked, examined his reflection in the spoon, the bowl, the sugar jar, etc._

Thereafter, I voyaged to the library for research. Yesterday Nallmian hypothesized that we may be able to exit the castle via a murder hole or other such pre-existing gap in the castle's architecture. The plan appears on its face ironclad, yet I cannot help but question how we are to find these pre-existing holes. Methinks there may be something of the sort in the gatehouse, but that is heretofore inaccessible.

The stoat is floundering for

He scratched the sentence out, began again.

_I fear Nallmian is floundering for ideas._

Midday; Quincy and I continued our plan. The servants have not been moved to rebel yet, but they have no reason to suspect Quincy is lying. After contacting Hector, he has told me that the servant was in fact the one who left behind the notes upon which I happened. Hector was detained shortly after discovering the breeding room, confined there so that he would not alert the remainder of the staff of the room's existence. With such a knowledgeable ally in addition to willing Jolice, the others will no doubt soon follow soon.

Afternoon. Continued surveillance. Desmond had all but vanished since midday but I soon re-discovered him. I must remember to use a mite more caution as Desmond spotted me whilst I was attempting to observe him unassumingly. The squirrel said it was impolite to stare, asked if newts in fact had eyelids and, when my answer was tardy in coming, gave up and proceeded to walk off, muttering something about the speed at which pine sap travels.

Saveaux stopped, resting his left paw; he had rested the notebook on it whilst writing. It was difficult to hold the journal for extended periods of time with only three fingers to grasp it. He dare not place any pressure on the stump his small finger had become; the last time he had accidentally done so, his entire left arm had gone numb for what must have been several hours. Saveaux did not know if it had healed past contact-pain, but was not feeling adventurous enough to investigate, although it had begun to itch something awful as of late.

Attempting to rest the journal on his arm, the newt continued, _Late afternoon. I am preparing to survey Desmond before both evening and dinner come as I am expected to be back inside the library before mealtime in order to recount my research – I told Nallmian that I desired to perform another analysis of the grounds. He agreed. The analysis was completed within an hour, so I will have information with which to present him upon my return._

Saveaux closed the journal, replacing it in his belt. He had seen Desmond walk up the stairs onto the next floor and so decided to go that direction.

The newt stopped, threw himself back around the corner. One with the wall, he waited until they had both passed and resolved to give chase, stalking at a good distance behind.

Saveaux breathed a sigh of relief internally. Not moments after he had ascended to the next floor had he nearly given his position away; Desmond could have seen him, walking in his direction as he was. The newt thanked the fates for his small stature.

Time was not allotted to dwell on his good fortune, however, as there was quite a bit of strange activity to observe. For one, the squirrel was walking about brandishing a spear, one which, by the looks of things, was too heavy for him. Stranger still, though, was that Biara accompanied the squirrel. Both appeared alert and intent on making their footfalls unheard.

Saveaux crept closer, soon able to decipher their words amongst the hum of silence the otherwise bare hallways tended to emit.

"-need to do this. Anyway, I thought you went to the badger to tell it to take care of Kima," said Biara.

"Oh, that? It didn't work. Broken cog in his head or something, I'm afraid," replied Desmond.

By the way Biara's head lolled back ever-so-slightly, she must have rolled her eyes. "Well, I suppose this will be effective enough. I've got enough experience and then there's always your qualifications; a wildcat should be nothing after a badger."

Saveaux stopped.

"I already told you, keep quiet about that. Somebeast might hear."

"Right, sorry. But you do realize that if Quincy or Saveaux catch wind of it they won't be able to actually do anything other than to try and angry-stare you to death, right? If it's protection you want, you've always got Nallmian and I; we both owe you the success of the plan."

"It's simple principle, you don't ju-"

The voices trailed off. Saveaux was left alone in the hall as the pair rounded a corner. He reached into his belt for the journal, clutched the charcoal in his hand an entire three seconds before it snapped in half. His grip on the journal weakened.

Moments after they had rounded the corner, Biara and Desmond heard a large crash back from whence they came. Racing to investigate, they found only a toppled suit of armor, a cracked mirror and a shattered vase, the source of the destruction having vanished.

Saveaux examined the book, running a finger against the spine. He whispered apologies for throwing it and replaced the book in his belt before he hoisted the dumbwaiter rope.

Quincy appeared shortly.

He groaned, stretching as he did. "Gads, that's a tight fit." The hare exited the small cavity, waggling his ears while he spread his arms wide. "Didn't know food had to put up with such bloomin' nonsense. Anyway, not much to report, capn'; the plan is going as, er, well, as planned." The smile on the hare's features abruptly vanished. "Something wrong?"

Saveaux's lips tightened, then nearly gaped for a moment. He removed the journal from his belt, turned it to the appropriate page, began to write slowly with the halved stick. All the while, he tapped his left index finger along the journal's spine.

At long last, 'Nothing. Everything is fine'

Quincy raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

The newt did not move immediately, but as soon as he decided to do so, Saveaux turned the journal to the final page and pointed to one word, written large and thick: "Yes."

Quincy patted Saveaux on the back. "Alright."

The pair split, not wanting to be seen together in the dining hall so as not to raise unneeded attention. After dinner, Saveaux wrote Quincy to meet him in the same place early the next morning and wrote nothing more. The hare did not need to know.

_What might he do if he did?_ Saveaux asked himself as he sat in the study poring over an unfinished diagram. _The hare has resigned himself to a life of nonviolence and though part of me wishes to tell him if for no other reason than he should know the murderer of his dear friend, who am I to move him to bloody his paws? For the knowledge would surely drive the hare mad enough to kill. Dearest Rhea would not want her friend to become a murderer._

But, I wonder, who does that leave to seek justice?

Who were guilty, first of all? Desmond had done the deed, but it could not have been of his own devising as the squirrel had no quarrel with the badgermaid. Then again, neither did Desmond harbor any good feelings toward Rhea or any of the other guests.

But Biara had said something that proved Saveaux's suspicions, "Nallmian and I; we both owe you the success of the plan."

"m-i-a-nnnnnnnnnn."

There was a scraping sound and Saveaux's ink well was toppled to the floor.

"Saveaux?" he heard the stoat ask.

Slowly, the newt reached for his paper. With an ink-wet finger, he wrote, 'Fine. I will clean.'

Saveaux did not look the stoat in the eye. He heard him turn and walk away shortly after.

Nallmian had perpetrated the plot, surely; Saveaux had seen how the horde captain looked at the Rhea with eyes akin to those staring at an adder or blaze. He viewed innocent Rhea as a threat and thereby took advantage of the others in order to kill her; Biara through her illness, and Desmond though convincing the squirrel that Rhea was a threat. He began to ask, Then who will avenge her? but Saveaux already knew the answer as he stared in his darkened reflection from the ink pool.

But it would involve killing.

_Does not the warrior kill? What other solution am I afforded when there is no law within the confines of this infernal castle?_

The tortured servant from days past tugged at his mind; how each blow had hurt him, how he felt his core fit to implode.

One cannot think of what he shall have to endure when it is for the greater good. I must put thoughts of my own purity aside. It is my sacrifice, that I may stain my own hands so that others should not suffer so, for I should ask none to do It when it is my responsibility; I had a chance to eliminate the threat and faltered, my mind clouded by the thought that I may have misjudged his behavior. But demons are beguiling and yet no less deadly or wretched for it.

Saveaux had finished sapping the ink pool up with a stray cloth and sat back down at his desk, feigning completing his chart while his mind was at work.

Two villains with which to be dealt; Desmond and Nallmian were guilty. Biara was afflicted and thus absolved, but Desmond had no excuse. One willing to kill of other guests so that he may live was a danger to the remaining guests. Besides, the penalty should extend to murderer as well as him who crafted the plot.

Yet Saveaux knew full well that, on his own, he would be incapable of defeating two beasts considerably larger than him. He would need assistance.

"Where are you going?" asked the vermin as Saveaux exited the library.

Rather than answer, the newt pointed to the note which lie above the now completed chart.

'Nallmian; as you can see, the chart is complete, yet there are a few areas which I must study more intently if I am to accurately finish it; I leave now to investigate them. Have no qualms if I am to return tardy as this may take time. I will not disappoint you.'

Saveaux stood at the threshold of the tunnel. His heart stomped against his chest, as did fear nibble at his core and doubt tug at his shoulders, yet it was happening somewhere far away. The image of the servant, bloodied, left for dead on the mattress tinged with his own blood, flickered before his minds eye and faded from view. Instead, he focused now on naught but taking step after step down the tunnel, through the pitch black, to the dead end.

Saveaux emerged from the tunnel soon after. Finished, he strode back to the library. He cast all thoughts of what had transpired aside and returned to drafting, every few moments pausing and griping his quill a fraction tighter than typical, attempting to throw a glance over his shoulder without being seen, or else stare at the rooms reflection in the new ink well at his desk.

Saveaux waited.


	63. We Are Friends

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 61. We Are Friends  
**

_by Kima  
_

When Kima was absent at breakfast, it had not been due to her sleeping in. No, she was quite awake at the time. What waylaid her was not sloth or sickness, but simple disagreement.

With herself.

Interrupted from her nap the previous evening, she had fallen back asleep and awoken completely refreshed after one of the best night's sleep she had ever experienced. And then she had fallen to arguing with herself – an argument that lasted most of the day. Sometimes pacing, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing as still as a statue, she moved about her room, face contorted with many emotions.

Kima's moral self was having a great battle trying to regain dominance. She couldn't let this castle – this experiment – get to her the way it currently was. She should keep trying with the others to find a way out and go back to playing games of harmless chance.

Meanwhile, the animal part of her was growling and pawing at its flimsy cage, eager to be let out to wreak havoc in every way it pleased. There was no way to escape – time had proved that – so just go wild.

So diametrically opposed were these two sides of her that she had come to view them as different entities entirely. It was only natural. After all, how could one creature be two completely different creatures? _We simply _have_ to be different._ She hardly noticed when she began referring to herself in the collective.

Yes, both sides agreed they were not the same Kima, but that was all. Neither could gain the upper paw. Her mind so agonized between the two that a third, stronger Kima emerged – indeed, had existed for quite some time now.

This was the rational, calm side of Kima that was attempting to reconcile the two parts – to keep the cat from falling to pieces completely. Kima's analytical self was turning and churning, deftly figuring a way to appease both the primal and the moral parts of herself. _There is no way to escape the castle prior to the conclusion of the experiment. Surely you can see that._ This to her old self.

_We can't just give up hope! We shouldn't turn on the others. It's not like we've done anything to excite their anger!_

The memories of the conversation with Biara the previous night and the attack on Quincy several days prior weaseled their way to the forefront, pushed by the animal within.

_There's a good point, kitten,_ the rational Kima thought. _What say you to that?_

_That wasn't me!_ "That was _her_!" She whirled and pointed at the mirror. It was clear which one she referred to.

A growl bubbled out of her chest. Images of Kima very clearly chasing after Quincy and dangerously bantering with Biara crowded around.

Kima glided over to the mirror. "That was her, yes." She reached out both paws and grasped the wooden frame, her teeth bared in a sudden snarl. "But it was also _you_, kitten."

_No!_ She tried to slink away, but couldn't seem to unclench her fingers.

"Yes. Look at yourself, Kima!" Her head swung around and froze within inches of the reflective glass. She found herself staring into her unblinking blue eyes. They were as clear and lively as ever, and yet there danced within a madness that definitely had not been there when she had first arrived at the castle.

She wilted under her own stare.

"Do not shy away, kitten! Do you not see? These are the eyes of a survivor. We can survive this castle. We can win the Professor's game. And we will beat him at it, too!" She gave a short laugh. "He thinks only one will leave alive, but there will be us three!"

The cat snarled in approval.

"You're crazy!" Kima tore herself away from the mirror and stumbled backwards.

She caught herself against the writing desk and chuckled. "No, kitten. _We_ are crazy."

Suddenly, she saw herself outside the castle, glorying in the warm sunlight without a care in the world. It was so appealing, so innocent looking. Kima really did want to be out in the open air again. To smell the scents of the forest. To sleep in the dappled shade of an oak tree.

But kill to get that freedom? At first, the feelings to maul something had frightened her, and then they had enthralled her. But now, looking at this other self – this twisted reflection of nature – she was revolted. Could she really let that thing have its way?

"I will control her, kitten," the rational Kima crooned. "I am not dragged about by emotions. I can think logically. I can see what is best for all of us. If you want to live, you need to trust me."

_How can I trust who I've just met?_

"But you have known me your entire life, kitten. Let us all contribute, and we all live. Try and go it alone, and we all of us die."

Kima mewled in frustration. For a very long moment, she stared at nothing. She remained frozen, not twitching her whiskers nor moving her tail. She could see no other solution. Resigning herself to whatever would come of this, she stepped aside to let herself take control.

The cat within stretched languidly, pleased with the outcome. That very nearly made Kima change her mind, but already her third self was on to other matters.

_Now, our course is set. But who to kill first?_

Instantly, an image of the hare escaping from between her jaws flitted through her mind. The humiliation of losing prey grated on every fiber of her being. A snarl tore itself from her throat. The message was clear; the hare must go first!

_No! Biara is much more of a threat. Quincy won't attack us if we don't attack him. Besides, Biara is actually trying to kill us. It's just self defense if we go after her first. We can just leave Quincy alone._ Kima was pleading, trying her best to retain some level of influence over her own actions.

_That tired old argument again, kitten? We've been through this. We're going to have to kill all the other guests if we want to get out alive. Don't you want to get out alive?_

Kima slumped into a chair, head in paws as she momentarily became her old self. "I – I just don't know anymore."

An image of Quincy crying out in pain as his bones were crushed in a most pleasing manner was savagely pushed to the forefront of Kima's mind, a low growl building in her throat.

_No! Not Quincy!_

The hare's cry of pain intensified. The cat growled in emphasis.

_At least Biara first!_

A solution presented itself to Kima, and she threw back her head and laughed, fangs bared to the ceiling. "I have it! My compromise." A crafty smile spread across her muzzle. "We go after whoever we find first."

No part of her could find any reason to argue with that.

Kima leapt from her chair, mind finally calm. Things now seemed as clear as a newly-polished crystal. Smoothing out her clothing, the feline stalked from her bedroom, claws clicking against the stone floor. She was about to head downstairs when muffled voices drifted out from behind the closed door of the bedroom next to hers.

_That sounds like Biara and Nallmian._ Despite them finding Biara before Quincy, The old Kima felt nervousness rising within her. She had never done what she was about to do – not when she was fully aware of what she was doing.

The cat let out a low mewl of disappointment at not finding the hare, but it was silenced by a paw raised to lips.

Stepping over to the door, she rapped smartly against the wood.

The voices inside stopped abruptly. A moment later, the door cracked open and Biara peered out. When she saw Kima, her eyes widened slightly, but she opened the door further and plastered on a pleasant grin. "Why, hello Kima. We missed you at breakfast. Do you need anything?" Behind her, Nallmian was sitting in a chair, his shirt off and several poultices pressed against his fur. He looked to be in no condition to fight. Good. Might be able to kill two birds with one stone.

Kima tried to moan worriedly, but was cut off. Instead, she leaned against the door frame, her grin matching the pine marten's. "Yes, actually. I decided I would like some more tea, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Oh, of course not. Not getting sick again, are you? I actually still have some of your herbal mixture bagged up. Come in. I'm just patching up Nallmian here." Biara withdrew to her medical pouch and began rummaging inside.

Kima sauntered in and glanced at Nallmian, giving him a wink. "How's it going, Nallmian? Run into more trouble with Jeremy?"

Nallmian looked a little suspicious of Kima, but to his credit, he tried to be civil. "No. Just more disaffected drones." He shifted his weight and winced.

Biara was still searching intently through her medical pouch. She apparently thought she was safe with Nallmian in the same room.

Kima's grin broadened. _Here we go, kitties._ With a sudden snarl, she leapt towards the pine marten, claws extended.

Nallmian shouted in alarm.

Biara looked up, startled. She barely managed to dive to the side before a furry mass barreled by, clipping her shoulder and sending her reeling.

Landing in a crouch, Kima did an about-face and lunged again at her foe.

This time, the pine marten was ready and waiting with her scalpel. She dodged to the side and slashed at Kima's arm.

Kima felt it bite into her flesh. She landed with a snarl of pain. It wasn't a deep wound, but it was unexpected.

The scent of blood began to crowd her senses, and the cat began to thrash excitedly, eager to take control.

_Don't let her!_ Kima was frantic to not fall under that spell again.

_I won't, kitten._ With their combined efforts, the cat howled and hissed, but finally relented. Miffed, it contented itself with licking the wound, sending a shiver of pleasure down Kima's spine.

When she looked back at the room, Biara and Nallmian were facing her, eyes narrowed and muscles tensed. They seemed a little confused by what they were watching.

"Oho! I see you have to take me on two at a time!"

"No reason not to," Nallmian spat acidly, dagger in paw. It was clear his bruises and wounds were hurting, but it was also clear he wasn't going to let that stop him. "It's sound strategy."

"Well, come on, then." Kima's tail twitched in anticipation. "Numbers wise, I have the advantage." This was _exciting_. A voice protested that sentiment, but she vehemently ignored it. Now was not the time.

The two mustelids advanced at the same time, weapons at the ready. And so began a dance of death.


	64. Whatever Happened to the Smiling Stoat?

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 62. ****Whatever Happened to the Smiling Stoat?**

_by Nallmian  
_

Something inside Nallmian chilled just a little bit when Kima came into the room. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was at far from one hundred percent capacity. Maybe it was the knowledge that cats were some of nature's most dangerous creations. But probably it was the fact that Kima seemed well and truly crazy. And Nallmian really, truly could not stand crazy beasts. Most of the trouble in his life had been caused, one way or another, by lunatics. The mouse warrior with the voices in his head, Falliss and his idiotic theories…so much bother over two creatures whose minds simply weren't arranged like they were supposed to be. The stoat knew that there were more than a few in Whitefire's horde who judged him to be like that, but he never had been crazy. The jokes, the imitations, the silly antics…it was all because Nallmian had figured out long ago in a wet ditch in the middle of a small, isolated fortress in the woods, that you could cry at the universe or you could laugh at it. And he would rather laugh.

The stoat watched as Kima's demeanor became more and more threatening, her behavior more clearly disturbed, and a knot built up in his stomach. He was in no shape to be fighting an insane feline maniac was this. But he couldn't just sit out a fight, especially one with someone who had absolutely no qualms about killing him in cold blood. And so the stoat charged, as Biara did the same.

Kima ducked under Nallmian's swing of his dagger, the point almost knicking her ear, as she sidestepped Biara and shoved the marteness hard, causing Biara to stumble to the side, dagger thrust going off center and hitting nothing but air. The stoat winced as Kima then slahsed her claws across his chest, then seized him by his open tunic and threw him. He cried out in pain as he crashed into a post of the bed in the room, sinking to the floor.

Biara dashed at the cat again, but Kima grabbed her arm, claws sinking in deeply. Biara snarled in pain and tried to wrench her arm away, but Kima kept squeezing and the marteness finally dropped her dagger. Kima sank her knee into the marteness' stomach, then backpawed her across the face and threw her onto the ground. The cat reared up, getting ready to slice into the marteness

"Looks we'll not be paying you for the tea, Biara!"

"'We'?!? Honestly, you lunatics really make me sick!" Nallmian managed to struggle to his feet and charge Kima, knocking her off her balance. The two tumbled, Nallmian attempting to pin Kima to the ground. He punched her as hard as he could, but not as hard as he could have without his injuries. It wasn't enough. Instead of hissing in pain, Kima was hissing in anger. Freeing her arms, she slashed the stoat's chest, then raked a paw full of needles across his face. Snarling, she pulled him down and sank her fangs into his shoulder, ripping out a bloody chunk. Nallmian cried out in pain, and loosened his grip just a bit. That was all it took. Kima lifted him up and threw him onto the floor even harder.

Then, she leapt onto him, snarling, all pretense of normalcy gone from her features. And Nallmian's world got red as the cat vented her full rage on him, slashing, biting, shredding through muscle. The stoat felt a white-hot lance of pain go through his body as he claws tore into his abdomen, and his attempts to resist collapsed.

"Hey Kima! Think fast!" The cat looked behind her just long enough for Biara to smash a glass jar over her face, splashing bright red liquid into the feline's crazed eyes. The feline howled in agony, one paw clamped to her eyes as the other one swept Biara to the side. Snarling, the cat rushed out of the room, snarling and hissing, and the two mustelids were alone again.

"Ha…ha." Even that was agonizing for Nallmian. "Your bag saves the day again." The stoat looked down at the bloody, destroyed mess that had previously been his torso "Almost."

Biara came over to his side, bag in paw. "Hang on, Nallmian. I'll…I'll…"  
The marteness' words faltered a bit as she saw just how severe the damage was. The cat's claws had left blood splattered on the walls and floor all around Nallmian, and in a spreading pool around the stoat. There was shredded muscle, and even a place where what might have been the stoat's stomach had been exposed. That looked bloody and torn too.

Nallmian made a brave attempt at a smile. "Don't try to reassure me. I've seen injuries like this before. There's nothing in your bag that'll work on this…." The stoat paused. "E…except one thing, maybe." The stoat looked at the marteness. "Biara, I know I'm not going to make it. No matter what you do, I'm dying. But wounds like this…can take a long time. They hurt a lot. I know. I've been on the other side of it." The stoat's voice was strained as he fought the agony. "Biara…I want you to…to stop the pain. To kill me now, rather than have me just sit here and bleed out or go into shock or just pass out from the pain of all the stuff that should be in my chest but is now in plain sight."

Biara paused, surprised. "Nallmian…are you sure? I could try…there...there might be something…"

The stoat shook his head. "No. There isn't. Besides…I kinda figure that having you do it…takes it away from Kima. I really don't like crazy beasts."

Biara's face was tight, her figure tense. The room was very quiet for a moment. "If…if you're sure…Then yes, I'll do that for you."

"Thanks, Biara." The stoat managed to try to smile again. "Biara…I…I really did like us being a team. This could have been even more miserable than it was…instead, we got to have a little extra fun at the expense of the bastards who have us locked up here. A few laughs, some excitement…not bad, considering the circumstances."

The marteness smiled just a bit. "No. Not bad at all."

The stoat reached out and touched her arm. "If things had been different, I can only imagine the mischief we could have gotten into and the games we could have played…but this'll have to be enough." The stoat paused briefly. "Oh, one more thing…if you make it to Falliss…I thought of what you could do to pay him back." The stoat whispered a suggestion, something rather elaborate, and rather painful. Biara couldn't help but grin a bit.

"Points for imagination, Nallmian…don't worry, I don't think Falliss will like what's coming at him."

"Good." The stoat nodded at her. "Well…I guess this is it."

"Yes."

"You've been the best partner in mayhem any vermin could ask for. Goodbye, Biara. Now go ahead and do it. I'm ready."

And she did.

end of round five.


	65. The Comedian is Dead

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of round six.

**Chapter 63. ****The Comedian is Dead  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

Saveaux saw blood. Biara was knelt over the corpse, paws stained from her work. The newt nearly left the room in a panic before the medic noticed him and explained, "Kima."

Saveaux felt himself nod and yet did not move at all, transfixed, eyes locked on the limp body with a great portion of its organs on display. Sound leaked out his throat, starting at a small stream and erupting into a whispered cascade. In his mind, though, he was screaming. Indecipherable syllables rolled off of his lips; in his mind he understood every word he attempted to say.

_"No, this surely cannot be, no…"_

He crossed closer to the body.

_"You're not…"_

He reached a quaking hand to the body's features. He would touch it and it would dissolve, like a dream. The hand would just past through and the body and the gore and the crazed wildcat and the castle and all of these horrible days would melt away and he'd find himself back at his lake, awake to spend another day contemplating if the vole would ever be back to retaliate – he wouldn't care this time, though, because whatever that vole could do to him would be nothing akin to this nightmare.

His hand stopped against the smoothed brow.

_"Damn you…"_

His left hand wrapped around the leg of an end table and pulled, wrenching it off the ground, tumbling back. He heard Biara gasp and move out of the way and didn't care.

_"DAMN YOU!"_

A nearby dresser was seized by the edges, set off balance, toppled over, splinters floating on the air or else mingling with the blood. He leapt onto his fallen wooden victim, grasped at the shelf lined with trinkets, catapulting the contents away and across to the other side of the room one by one.  
"Saveaux, stop!"  
He ignored her. He shot from the dresser to the writing desk, tearing the shelves out, beating them across the desk, launching the last shelf at a covered mirror, shattering it to pieces and causing air to rush through from the previously concealed passageway. As an afterthought, a chair was thrown against the stone floor, legs rupturing with a sound akin to bone.

He threw back his head, and rasped, _"KIMA!"_ but none save himself recognized the cry. Still, he commanded, _"KIMA, SHOW YOURSELF! VILLAIN, CEASE YOUR HIDING AND FACE ME!"_

"SAVEAUX!"

He felt a paw upon his shoulder attempt to roughly spin him about. He shoved it off, crossed the room towards the door.

_"It was supposed to be me, Kima, why did you INTERVENE!"_

Something struck him full in the stomach, quickly and violently. Saveaux's perspective inverted and, when his vision finally cleared, he saw Desmond, hopping and shouting and gesticulating wildly. The squirrel paid no heed to the nearby body.

"He's…he's…he's coming, hescominghescominghescoming-I can't stop him I-I-I dunno why he's coming but he's after me!"

Biara seized him by the shoulders. "What's coming, who?"

A crash caused Saveaux to jolt upright and he leaned to see it, a hulking form twenty yards down the hallway and closing. With each step, the room's tone grew darker as the behemoth frame eclipsed all torchlight in the hall behind.

At a wordless command, Saveaux and Desmond followed Biara out the hall and down the intersecting path, ducking into the nearest guest room they could find.

"He shouldn't be able to maneuver that well in a tight space," Biara rationalized.

Tombstone came to the door, turned, leaned forward to fit into the room. Biara stood with her blade ready; Desmond cowered behind, pulling an empty shelf in front of his body for cover; Saveaux stared. Tombstone was here, ready to begin the work; but there was no Nallmian for it to distract. There was still its intended target but such force felt superfluous now.

_Pointless…it's all pointless_

"Saveaux, when I charge it, you grab onto Desmond and get him out of the room."

Saveaux heard but did not listen. His eyes followed the badger from toe to head as it pulled itself into the room, got up, began to stretch to full height.

"Then, we'll regroup down the hall,"

His hand reached behind, at his belt. It was still there, metal, cold, inviting.

"And try to lose it,"

His fingers wrapped around the handle one by one as he pictured it; while the stoat is distracted the dagger is drawn, the dagger is pressed into the stoat's back, the stoat dies. So simple, and now, meaningless.

"Understand?"

The newt dashed at the badger, feeling his throat blistering as the yell escaped his lungs involuntarily. He flanked it, drew close, stabbed at the creature's thigh. Tombstone looked down at the dagger jutting from his leg, then at the newt. A great paw spanning the length of Saveaux's chest descended and his back met with wall.

Through squinted eyes, he saw Biara clutch Desmond's paw, leading the squirrel out of the way as a dresser careened towards them and shattered on the wall. Saveaux felt himself hoisted up, pulled out the door and into the hall. At a few more strides, he was allowed to walk again. They now stood at the stairs, Saveaux and Desmond both gaping at Biara as she tried to devise a strategy.

"Alright so…split up, maybe?"

"It's only after me, that won't do anything!" protested Desmond.

"Exactly; that way, we don't get crushed when that thing tries to kill you."

"You owe me!"

The steps were heard again. Hands flailed with the journal, scratched out a sentence.

"-life or death, Desmond, and I'm not too keen on dying."

"Well how do you think I feel?"

The journal hit the squirrel full in the face. Ignoring his protests, Biara snatched it, turning to the partially ripped-out page, 'Kitchen, now!"

She nodded and ran down the stairs, newt and squirrel and, soon, badger following behind.

------

It remained silent, save Desmond's occasional rustlings. The trio had made it to the kitchen before Tombstone and the lack of loud stomping assured them that he was not anywhere nearby when they had concealed themselves.

"So, what is the plan? Do you have it written on a chart or something?" asked the wide-eyed squirrel.

Saveaux jabbed a finger at his own head in response.

"Brilliant," he heard Desmond whisper.

Loud steps sounded and the trio heard the kitchen door hit against the inside wall. They heard it stride close but from behind their hiding places could not tell where it was. Saveaux waited three steps and then stood, stepping from behind his cover under the counter despite the whispered protests from Biara and Desmond.

He examined Tombstone's movements; the badger was glancing along the room. Saveaux waved his arms. Tombstone did not react. The badger was trained to be efficient, ignore any distractions. The newt seized a nearby pan and gave it a toss at the badger with more force than was needed. It thudded off of the badger's shoulder, causing it to turn in Saveaux's direction.

Its eyes scrutinized the pan thrower. It charged fast, allowing only a moment for Saveaux to dive out of the way. On the floor, he felt something scrape painfully against his leg. He looked down, seeing that the dagger he had lodged in the badger's thigh was now embedded in the floor just next to the graze wound. Tombstone looked at the dagger then at the newt, his eyes showing that he had made the association between the two and would stop Saveaux permanently if he tried to prevent him again.

"No!"

Desmond had darted from his cover and run for the door. Pivoting quicker than seemed possible, the badger changed direction and cut him off. Tombstone held a meat cleaver which he had drawn from a nearby cutting board. He raised the cleaver and dropped it, clutching his eyes in pain. Saveaux grasped Desmond's paw, rubbing the curry powder on his other hand off on his cloak; he had picked the kitchen for a reason.

Blinded, Tombstone flailed, knocking over shelves, pots, pans and blades; the latter most Saveaux and Desmond had to carefully maneuver out from under while they plunged blade down to the earth. The badger went still. Saveaux halted in kind. Tombstone sniffed at the air, turning about to face Desmond and the newt.

_Though its sight has been stolen, it continues. It must be feeling unimaginable pain right now, but it refuses to stop, because it can't._

Then, darkly, _That's the difference between that thing and I, between Kima and I; I could have stopped. If I wanted, I could have stopped_

Saveaux guided the squirrel over to the barrel and beat at the tap with a mallet, the action taking far longer than he would have liked, for the badger had turned and was now facing their direction. As Tombstone moved forward, the tap broke and the kitchen filled with the pungent odor of vinegar. Saveaux leaned under and doused himself heavily, then motioned Desmond to do the same. When he hesitated, the newt drew himself up on tip-toe, seized the squirrel by the nape of the neck and thrust him into the fragrant cascade. Quite fortunate was he that Desmond was taken unawares, Saveaux reasoned. Otherwise, the action would have been impossible.

The newt turned to Biara, but the marteness understood without being told, crossing over, dousing herself too in the vinegar.

Tombstone stopped, sniffed the air once more. Saveaux ran to his left, Biara to her right, Desmond stone-still. The badger turned, sniffed at both of his flanks, contemplated. Slowly, it stepped backwards, ducked, withdrew from the room. Nobeast moved until it's steps went unheard.

_It has not left because it is injured; it has left because it cannot accurately locate its target. It will be back later for Desmond,_ thought Saveaux.

He found he did not care.

-----

There was no body when they returned, nor any blood. In place of the shattered mirror was a boarded up opening. The debris Saveaux had created was cleared as well. He thought for a moment that he would create more to burden the servants, but fatigue protested against.

He looked at the marten. Biara had kept silent ever since they returned Desmond to his room and – much to his protest – left him alone .

Saveaux scribbled in his journal, presented a note to Biara, 'There is something of which I must inform you; over the past two days, Quincy and I have been pursuing our own plan. I did not bring it to your attention because I felt Nallmian would protest against it.'

He wrote again, explaining what the breeding room was, how Quincy had told the occupants that the experiment had gone horribly wrong and the professor planned on reprising it with the breeders, how he had already won the trust of Hector and had previously possessed that of Jolice and that, any day now, the breeders would rebel.

'I will continue to pursue this plan,' concluded the note. 'In addition, I believe it would be in our best interests to all of us band together. What's more, the cat must be eliminated.'

Biara nodded. She did not speak a word, although she cast a leer at the newt.  
Saveaux rustled with his papers and charcoal.

'I am sorry about your room.'

She gave the same robotic nod, her features neither forgiving nor condemning him.

Saveaux left only one other note, this one intended for the servants. It was driven into the wood obscuring the watcher's passage, held in place by a dagger that was at one time intended for a specific beast, but now had lost its purpose. By the many gouge marks in the wood and note, it was evident that the dagger had been driven through both wood and paper numerous times. Written on the note in clear, clean long-hand was a promise.

'I will come for you. I will find the body. I will insure retribution.'


	66. Brompton Cocktail

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 64. ****Brompton Cocktail  
**

_by Biara  
_

Biara was exhausted.

But at least she had been able to get her mirror back.

The pine marten smirked triumphantly as she admired the mirror she'd pilfered from one of the empty guest rooms. The boarded up entrance to the passageway behind where the old mirror used to be had irritated her so; it stood out like a fresh scar.

Biara lashed her tail. It was all Kima's fault, of course. Biara enjoyed a good fight as much as anybeast, but she was thoroughly vexed by the destruction of her room, the attacks on her person, and the killing of her patient.

_No, wait. That was me._

Biara blinked. _Oh, right; Nallmian. Nearly forgot about him._

Lying down on her bed, the marten closed her eyes. Something like this had happened before.

_"Biara! Thank Vulpuz you're all right!"_

The young marten's eyes flickered open. She caught a glimpse of the infirmary before her vision was blocked by a furry bundle that tackled her and proceeded to wrap her in a tight hug. She sighed to herself. "You know, Legault," she said, once the young wildcat had let go and she could once again breath, "I wasn't even hurt."

"What are you talking about?" The wildcat raised an eyebrow.

Biara followed her friend's pointed claw, and glanced down at her own paw, which was wrapped in a bloody bandage. "Oh. I hadn't noticed. Some great swordsbeast I am, huh?" Her heart shuddered just a little. It was so tantalizing. Desperately, the marten attempted to recollect the stabbing, but every time the feeling faded just a little more.

She knew that it made her a monster. She also knew she needed it again.

"Biara? Are you sure you're all right?"

The marten blinked. "What?" Upon seeing her friend's skeptical glance, she softened her expression. "I am, Legault. Trust me." She laid her ears back, "I'm just concerned for my coach," she added quickly. "How is he?"

The answer was obvious thanks to the instant droop of the young wildcat's ears and his downcast gaze. Biara looked away. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice hollow.

"Please, don't blame yourself, Biara," Legault said, clutching his friend's good paw. "It was an accident. I know you would never hurt anybeast on purpose."

The marten looked over her friend, trying to understand. She squeezed the wildcat's paw, knowing that it would make him feel a little better. Why were beasts so fragile? She had been fond of the old rat, and would certainly miss having him around, but just couldn't feel the same sorrow as she knew she should.

Desperately, the marten burrowed inside herself, searching. There was only the taunting remnants of what she'd felt when she'd spilled the rat's blood. It made her angry.

"Biara?"

The marten winced, withdrawing her claws. Legault's eyes were wide. "I didn't mean it! Oh, 'Gates, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to..."

Even though Biara knew vaguely that the wildcat was forgiving her, it was awfully hard to listen over the sudden pounding of her heart. And it frightened her to realize that she didn't care to.

Biara clenched her paws. _I've changed since then. I can control the urges. I'm not just a killer, I'm a healer. A good one._

Yes, and you did such a very good job fixing Nallmian.

Biara had no further arguments. _I would have killed him soon, anyway._ And when she drifted off to sleep, the only thing she cared about was whether or not there would be clotted cream with the scones at breakfast.

--

In fact, Biara would have most likely slept soundly through the evening, had she not been awakened by a terrible growling from her stomach.

Getting to her footpaws, the marten stretched out. "Might as well see if there's any dinner left." Sifting through the herbs in her medicine bag, Biara slung it over her shoulder wondering whether or not the badger had successfully squashed Desmond. She rather hoped it had.

And so with a light heart, Biara went downstairs to the first floor. However, instead of exiting the stairwell, the healer kept descending. _Naturally_, she thought, _a red wine would be the perfect complement to dinner._

Biara was surprised by the amount of noise coming from the basement. Stopping at the very last step, she peered around the corner, ears flicked forward. Several servants, _armed servants_, were carting loads of stone about. These beasts looked much more suited to heavy labor than the usual servants bustling about the castle. An otter carrying a heavy chain-mace looked to be in charge, striding about purposefully, although Biara was amused to see that despite their tough appearances, the workers were just as quiet and polite as the mice who poured the hot water for tea.

Turning the corner, the tall marten made her way to a familiar door, one she had been visiting often as of late. She was largely ignored by the servants, although one or two of them watched her progress warily. Biara was starting to wonder exactly what they were working on so industriously. Whatever it was, however, was not nearly as important as a good drink. Besides, she might as well get some work done, while she was at it. Claws flexing, she entered the room.

When the pine marten healer made her way out again, the servants were still hard at work. Biara blinked owlishly. _Hold on a second…_ Reaching into her pocket, the marten came up with a folded up piece of paper, the one that Saveaux had given her earlier:

_There is a Breeding Room of sorts in the basement. Two entrances exist so far, one through a hidden door and another through the dumbwaiter. We have been able to avoid detection so far…_

Biara looked up from the paper, watching one group of servants streaming in and out of what seemed to be a storage room, and another headed toward the kitchen. _Excellent job avoiding detection, Saveaux._ The medic crumpled up the paper and carelessly tossed it aside. _Dreadfully sorry, but I'm afraid I haven't the time to help get killed._

The marten practically skipped towards the kitchen, but was stopped by the tough-looking otter with the chain-mace. "Excuse me," he growled, "but I'm going to have to ask you to stay away from this area for now." If the servant had noticed the flecks of blood on Biara's tunic, he certainly didn't seem the least concerned by it. "It's quite dangerous, and you might get hurt. We shall be finished as soon as possible."

Biara nodded courteously. "Of course." She turned, as if about to leave, when she glanced back over her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

The otter blinked. "Yes, Miss Biara?"

Fishing through her bag, the marten came up with a small drawstring pouch, which she offered to the servant. "If you're to give the guests down in the breeding room some extra water before they're sealed in permanently, please add some of this as well." She smiled pleasantly. "I'm their medic, you see, and it's very important that they get this."

"Yes, Miss Biara. Good day." The otter pocketed the pouch and strode off toward the kitchen.

Tail curling pleasurably, the marten turned on her heel and trotted up the stairs. _That takes care of business. And now dinner!_

--

Biara slit one eye open. Something was very wrong.

A glance at the clock in the bedroom confirmed her suspicions; it was before nine o'clock and somebeast was tapping incessantly on her door.

Pinning her ears back, the marten closed her eyes and attempted to ignore it. Unfortunately, this only caused the tapping to up the ante and upgrade itself to full-blown knocking. Biara was simply too tired to engage in such a war of attrition, however, and lurched her way to the door. "I bet its Desmond, too… bloody squirrel…"

Biara threw the door open and peered down at Desmond, who had one paw raised in preparation for another volley of knocks. "Can I help you?" she asked icily.

"Yes," the squirrel said, matter-of-factly. Without any further comment, he paraded into the room.

Biara felt her claws sink into the grain of the door. _I will not kill Desmond… yet._

The marten closed the door. "If you don't mind me asking," she grated, "what exactly was it that you wanted?"

"What?" Desmond looked away from the mirror. "Isn't it obvious? That badger is still after me and I need protection."

_Yes. A shame it didn't rip you apart yesterday._ "Why in the world is that thing after you, anyway?" Biara asked.

"How should I know?" Desmond snapped. "I certainly didn't ask it to come after me."

"You did give it an order, though, right?" The marten asked, ears pointed forward.

Desmond fidgeted. "Yes, I did." His eyes flashed. "But that doesn't mean that some other beast didn't get to him after I did."

The healer shook her head. "I'm afraid that's impossible." She elaborated at Desmond's raised eyebrow. "Think about it, Desmond. It couldn't have been Quincy, because he doesn't even know about the badger. If it had been Saveaux, he wouldn't have bothered saving you yesterday," _like he should have._ "Kima is out of the question as well. She's quite touched in the head, I'm afraid. Even if she did know about Tombstone, a beast in her condition simply wouldn't have the foresight to think of using it."

Desmond opened his mouth to protest, but Biara beat him to it. "And no, I didn't do it either. I knew about the badger first, remember? And besides that, if I really wanted to kill you, I would have done it already."

"What about Nallmian?" Desmond countered. "You said that Agatha told the both of you about it. Who's to say he didn't sneak off and give it orders?"

Biara pawed at the bridge of her snout. "It's possible, but highly unlikely. For one thing, you saw how busy that stoat was, running around willy-nilly doing his research. I doubt he had any time to go looking for Tombstone."

"Oh, this is preposterous!" Desmond said, paws akimbo. "One of you had to have given the brute orders to kill me, because I'm telling you right now I didn't!"

"Actually…" Biara cocked her head. "Who _did_ you order it to kill?"

"Professor Falliss, naturally," Desmond said, proudly. "I'm surprised nobeast thought of… that…" he trailed off, eyes widening. "Oh _'Gates_."

"Don't feel bad, Desmond," Biara said cheerfully. "It was a clever idea, really. In fact, I probably would have tried it myself if you hadn't beat me to it." She smiled brightly. "A shame it's trying to kill you now, though."

Desmond glared. "You still have to protect me."

"Nonsense," Biara scoffed. "I've helped you far more than you deserve, and got into two fights because of it."

Desmond smirked, bordering on a sneer. "What happened, did you get into a lover's spat with Nallmian?"

"No," Biara said levelly. "Kima attacked, actually. And Nallmian's dead."

"Is he?" Desmond went back to admiring himself in the mirror. "So you finally did away with the brute?"

"Yes," was the simple reply. She ran a claw along her scalpel blade.

The squirrel turned quickly, as if realizing the danger he was in. "Did you kill Kima also?"

"No, although I doubt that she'll be recovering anytime soon." The marten grinned smugly. She rather hoped the cat's eyes were still burning. _It would really be something if she'd been blinded!_

Desmond narrowed his eyes. "If she's weakened, then we should track her down and finish her. Then we can focus on combating that badger."

The marten healer nodded. "Right." Biara didn't mention that the most logical way to combat the badger was to simply kill Desmond after he had helped get rid of Kima. She smiled brightly, "Now, to find that cat. If she's wounded, then chances are she's going to be hiding, so using the passages would be to our best advantage."

"Right."

"Oh! I nearly forgot," Biara said with an annoyed flick of her tail. "The entrance in my room was boarded up…" _after Saveaux wrecked it._ The marten wasn't quite sure what to think of the newt's outburst, but she figured it didn't matter anymore.

"Regardless," she continued, "we'll need to use the one in your room."

Desmond looked somewhat uneasy, but he nodded. "Fine. Let's go."

Biara opened her door just a little and peeked outside to make sure there weren't any badgers or wildcats lurking about before gesturing for Desmond to follow. The squirrel looked decidedly uneasy as he stepped into the hallway, ears back.

The pair barely made it to the stairwell before running across Jeremy. Biara couldn't help but think that the squirrel was looking quite pleased with himself. She nodded curtly, but the older squirrel motioned for them to stop.

"My apologies," Jeremy said, although he clearly wasn't feeling apologetic. "I must have a word with the two of you."

"Oh?" Biara asked, her knife paw twitching a little. They had to hurry if they wanted to catch Kima while she was still weak. "Is there any way it could wait?"

Jeremy shook his head firmly. "No, I'm afraid it may not. Have you forgotten Helena? She is still in need of a healer."

Biara clamped down on the threatening growl in her throat. _'Gates, there isn't even anything sufficiently wrong with her._

Desmond stepped in before the pine marten could protest further. "Of course, Jeremy. However, this time I request that you leave us alone with the patient?" He glanced towards Biara.

The marteness nodded quickly. "Right. It's quite impossible to work while somebeast is looking over my shoulder the whole time."

Both beasts watched as Jeremy appeared to mull over the idea, however, the squirrel eventually nodded his approval. "Very well. But I will be escorting you to and from the room like before." He produced the pawkerchiefs, and as Biara slipped the cloth over her eyes, she hoped that, for his sake, what Desmond had in mind included more than just flirting with Helena.

The marteness knew they had reached Helena's room even before Jeremy gave the signal to remove their blindfolds by the drop in temperature, and she drew her cloak a little tighter around her shoulders. Upon seeing Desmond and Biara, Helena raised herself to a sitting position and waved weakly, coughing. Biara did her best not to roll her eyes. _If nothing else, she's going to damage her throat by pretending to cough like that._

"I will be just outside the room," Jeremy said, glancing from Biara to Desmond. "Knock once when you are finished." With that, he nodded politely to Helena and then took his leave.

The room was silent for a moment. Biara cleared her throat. "Miss, excuse me for saying so, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with you."

The squirrel maid lowered her gaze. "Oh, was it that obvious? I'm sorry for causing you any trouble, but I had to get in contact with you somehow, and this was the only way…"

"Don't mind her, Miss," Desmond said, offering a charming smile. Biara set her jaw. "It's absolutely no trouble at all. Is there anything we can help you with?"

Helena nodded. "Yes. Ever since this new experiment, the Professor has changed. He's… cold. Different. He would never play with creature's lives like this." Her eyes flashed with anger. "I can't just sit by and do nothing, I have to help you."

Biara nodded cordially. "Thank you, Miss Helena, but I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that at the present."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong!" Helena offered a crafty smirk. "I am The Professor's servant, remember? I know how to get to his personal chambers."

Biara and Desmond exchanged glances. _Well. I suppose I can keep you alive for just a little longer._


	67. We All Go To Hell

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 65. ****We All Go To Hell  
**

_by Desmond  
_

"Miss, excuse me for saying so, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with you."

Desmond smirked, amused by Biara's bluntness; to her, this was obviously just a waste of time that would be far better put to use hunting a certain wildcat. That was the trouble with Biara, he decided – she simply didn't know how to have fun.

Helena blushed, averting her eyes. "Oh, was it that obvious? I'm sorry for causing you any trouble, but…"

Desmond stopped listening and studied her face. She was very young, he mused pensively. Not more than fifteen… But that had never stopped him before, had it? Desmond grinned. Besides, she was very pretty.

"Don't mind her, miss," he said quickly, digging up the most charming smile he could find. "It's absolutely no trouble at all. Is there anything we can help you with?"

Rescuing damsels in distress – something he was good at. Winning her over wouldn't be hard at all, at this rate.

The female nodded. "Yes. Ever since this new experiment, the Professor has changed. He's… cold. Different. He would never play with creatures' lives like this. I can't just sit by and do nothing, I have to help you."

Desmond coughed, wondering how this slight squirrelmaid could possibly help them, but Biara beat him to articulating this.

"Thank you, Miss Helena, but I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that at the present."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong!" The squirrelmaid smiled cunningly. "I am the Professor's servant, remember? I know how to get to his personal chambers."

Desmond raised one eyebrow, glancing at Biara; that was useful, after all. "Really?" He asked, turning his gaze back to Helena, who had a smug smile on her delicate features. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to share that information, would you?"

"That depends," she told him, looking up at him through her eyelashes; she was awfully good at that, he mused, and wondered how she'd learned. "I might want something in return – that doesn't sound unreasonable, does it?"

"That rather depends on what you want," Biara pointed out.

"Oh, nothing much," Helena waved one paw airily. "I just want to ask you – " she gestured to Desmond, "A few questions. And you have to promise to answer them. Or I won't tell you anything."

Desmond blinked. What could she possibly want to know from him? Still, he couldn't see any harm in complying, particularly not if it got them that much closer to taking down Falliss. "Sounds fair enough to me," he gave in grudgingly. "But only one."

She pouted. "Two."

Biara, fed up with the back and forth turn that the conversation was taking put her foot down. "One," she said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. "And make it quick; I have a feeling Jeremy isn't going to wait forever."

Helena sighed. "Fine," she said, and fixed Desmond with a calculating look. She tapped a claw on the blanket thoughtfully and then said, "Are you married?"

"No," said Desmond automatically.

She raised one eyebrow. "Really? You aren't?" She frowned. "You have to tell the truth!"

"One question was the deal," he smirked. "And you failed to specify whether or not the truth was necessary; I'm afraid it's all the answer you're going to get." It was true enough, anyway, he decided unremorsefully. Mostly.

"Right," Biara cut in, eying the two of them irately, though her tone was pleasant enough. "You've had your question. Any chance of your telling us where Falliss is before Jeremy returns?"

Helena hesitated before nodding, worry clouding her face. "Just one thing," she said slowly. "Promise – you won't hurt him?" She looked at the two of them and gulped. "I know – what he's doing isn't right, but… he's all I have. He's given me everything."

"Oh," said Biara cheerfully. "No, I don't think you need to worry about that."

Desmond almost laughed aloud but caught himself and turned it into a cough.

Helena took a deep breath and sat up straighter. "All right," she began. "I assume you've figured out how to get into the secret passages? Because you're going to have to use them…"

*

Jeremy returned them to Desmond's room, where they had a brief planning session, in which Biara returned the dagger he'd used on Rhea to him and agreed to take the lead in the passages, as Desmond had forgotten Helena's directions the moment they left the room. Once they were on their way, they were silent for a long while before Desmond cleared his throat and spoke.

"So… Nallmian?" he asked casually.

"What about him?" Her shoulders tensed, almost imperceptibly.

Desmond waved a paw vaguely, though he knew she couldn't see him. "I didn't think you'd be so fast to get rid of him. I mean, he was irritating, certainly – but he was also useful."

Biara shrugged. "Not after Kima got through with him. She attacked us while I was seeing to his injuries; he was already weakened, certainly no match for her. I managed to drive her away, but Nallmian was beyond repair, so I finished him off."

Desmond shuddered, disturbed by her flat tone. "You spent an awful lot of time with him," he remarked. "He seemed to think you were… friends."

Biara laughed lightly. "Really, Desmond, I would think you would be the last one to jump to such an assumption. He was merely a tool, and when he ceased to be usable, I disposed of him."

She might not have intended to use the pointed tone, but Desmond heard it nonetheless and swallowed; he wasn't surprised to find out that she thought much like him, that beasts were only worth keeping around as long as they were useful. Once they ceased to be so… Well, then they were simply an obstacle, barring you from the exit. It just meant he'd have to be more careful than ever around her. At some point, she was going to be more dangerous than she was worth, and that was when he'd have to be ready to defend himself. Kill her, even, if he could.

The marten slowed her pace and Desmond, who had gotten rather used to following her in the cramped passageways, was able to follow suit without walking into her.

"We should be almost there," she said in a low voice, "But this doesn't look like she described - I hope we didn't take a wrong turn…" The possibility irked her. She went cautiously forward, followed closely by the squirrel.

Desmond glared at the marten's back. It had gotten progressively colder in the passageway as they went along, and of course he hadn't thought to bring a cloak; he didn't want to spend any more time than was necessary in the dratted place, particularly not with the disagreeable marten, who had most likely gotten them lost. They'd probably freeze to death, if somebeast didn't come along and do away with them first… He looked behind him nervously. They hadn't encountered anybeast yet, but he couldn't lose the feeling that they were being followed. No one was there, however, and he frowned, disgusted with his feelings of anxiety.

The squirrel tried to warm his paws in his pockets, and his right paw found the dagger hanging from his belt. He gripped the hilt, musing… She was right in front of him, back turned. He could just stab her and be done with it, and no one would be the wiser. Silently, he drew the blade from his belt, tightening his grip around the hilt. It would be so easy…

He started as Biara halted in front of him.

"Ah," said the marten, sounding relieved. "No, this is right – there's the door, too, like she said."

There was a creaking sound behind them. Desmond yelped and whipped around, dagger in paw, and stabbed blindly. Blood spurted over his paws, a gory reward for his efforts. The beast, a rat in servant's uniform, gurgled painfully and crumpled to the floor, the dagger locked in his chest.

"You're getting good at that," Biara remarked, sounding amused. "We should have remembered to look out for a guard."

Desmond ignored her, his gaze locked on the rat. The beast wasn't dead – it was still breathing, each breath more ragged and tortured than the last. "He isn't dead," he said blankly.

"Your aim wasn't perfect," Biara explained. "It'll be a while before he dies. Better finish him off – he might set off an alarm."

Desmond didn't move. "It's unlikely," he argued. "He's in too much pain to do anything. Besides, I don't want to get this shirt any bloodier than it is."

Biara sighed and moved quickly to the rat's side, plucked the dagger from his chest, and slit his throat. "There," she shoved the dagger at him hilt-first, ignoring his look of distaste. "Shall we get on, then?"

Desmond accepted the dagger, bending to wipe it on a clean part of the corpse's clothing. She might at least have cleaned it off first, he thought resentfully as he joined the marten in front of the door.

"I have a plan," she told him, holding an odd looking glass cylinder in one paw and eying the amount of liquid inside of it. "If you distract him – I know you can do it, just charge him and stab or something – then I can come from behind and inject him with this." She held up the thing to show him, and Desmond noticed with a shiver that there was a needle on one end. He didn't like needles, at least, not when they were being waved menacingly at him.

"It should knock him out," she continued. "Once he's out, it'll be easy enough to kill him."

"It seems unnecessarily risky on my part," Desmond pointed out, an edge in his voice. "Any chance of reversing the roles?"

"No," said Biara simply.

Desmond eyed the needle and was silent.

"Right. The moment I open the door, then, charge." She grinned at him unsettlingly. "I'm sure you'll be brilliant! Just imagine that you're chasing a poor female who can't get away. That should be easy enough for you."

Desmond glared at her, but she thrust the door open without waiting for a response, and he had no choice but to burst into the room, followed by the marten –

Only to go straight into the paws of Jeremy. The servant disarmed him expertly, tossing the dagger aside and then twisted Desmond's arms behind his back, effectively rendering him helpless. Struggling was useless, and Desmond gave it up when he realized that Jeremy was in the perfect position to inflict a great deal of pain upon him. Looking about the room, he saw that Biara was held captive by a well-muscled otter, just as helpless as he was; several other servants stood ready to aid Jeremy and the otter, should the captives make any trouble.

And Falliss. Falliss was there, watching it all with an infuriating interested expression – as if he didn't care what happened, provided he could observe and record it all.

"So you've come," he said calmly. "Helena's marvelous with directions, isn't she?"

Desmond scowled as he realized that the squirrelmaid herself was standing beside Falliss, watching the proceedings.

"Sorry," she said, catching his eye and smiling apologetically. "You _did_ promise not to hurt him, though."

"You little –!"

"Now, now!" Falliss chuckled raspily. "Let's not call names, Desmond. It's impolite."

Desmond cursed under his breath, giving Helena a murderous look. She smirked back at him, and even through his anger, he couldn't help feeling that she looked remarkably familiar…

"…See, I've been intrigued by the two of you," Falliss was saying pleasantly. "Vermin and woodlander, yet working together – fascinating. In fact, I've become so interested in this development that I've devised a new game for you. Oh, don't worry, it shouldn't take up too much of your time; I think you'll be back to murdering the others before the day is out." He chuckled and nodded to Jeremy and the otter. "You have your orders; set up the pawns."

Desmond didn't think he liked being called a pawn, but before he could articulate this, Jeremy hit him soundly over the head, and there was nothing.

*

He woke in Rhea's room.

At least, that's where he assumed he was; the chamber still had traces of her scent, though there was no physical sign of her ever being there.

Desmond sat up – he was in a chair, he found – and looked around, wincing; Jeremy took malicious glee in his work, he thought sourly, gingerly touching the back of his head.

"Lousy excuse for a…" He started. There was somebeast else in the room, a little ferretess who was watching him apathetically.

"Excuse me, sir," she said, coming closer and offering him a folded paper. "I was told to wait until you woke and then give you this. Sir." She handed him the paper and then hurried from the room. Desmond shrugged and unfolded it, reading the note written inside:

_Desmond,  
Biara has been placed in a deathtrap in the basement. If you wish to save her, you must do so immediately; time is short, and any hesitation on your part will result in the loss of her life.  
~Professor Falliss_

Desmond read it twice and blinked. "Biara," he murmured. "In the basement. Dying." He laughed with glee. "How delightful!"

The way was clear; he would simply leave her there! Really, this was too kind of Falliss, getting her out of the way for him. If he didn't hate the owl so much, he would have been tempted to thank him. Or, at the very least, see to it that he had a fairly painless death.

Feeling merrier than he had for a good while, Desmond made his way down to the second floor and his bedroom, whistling tunelessly as he went. Halfway down the stairs, he remembered that there was still a very big, very murderous badger out hunting him, and he quickly ceased his noisemaking, creeping furtively the rest of the way.

So intent was he on making sure that the badger wasn't hiding behind every corner that he didn't notice the pile of laundry sitting in his doorway until he had tripped over it and was sprawled on the floor of his room, cursing violently.

"Is everything all right?"

Desmond looked up to see one of the servants, a male mouse, watching him. The squirrel glared at him, struggling to his feet.

"No," he snarled. "Everything is not all right. I instructed one of you to have my laundry seen to this morning – so why is it still sitting in my doorway?"

The mouse's gaze flickered to Desmond's bloody sleeves, but he answered calmly. "I'm sorry, sir." He swallowed, and a tinge of resentment entered his voice. "It is somewhat harder to keep up with the work when you're constantly killing us off, though."

Desmond scoffed. "Me? I haven't killed any of you!" He decided it would be better not to mention the rat he'd done away with earlier. "Now, I've been working very hard to do as Falliss instructed us, and my shirts are bloodsoaked because of it!" He indicated the stains on his sleeves. "All I ask in return is that you wash them promptly. Is that so hard?"

The mouse stared at him, his eyes hard. "You're forgetting Emilie," he said, voice ever so quiet.

Desmond twitched. Forgotten? Hardly. He hadn't thought he'd hurt her that badly, though… "Is she dead?"

The mouse shook his head, his jaw tight with repressed anger. "No. But I dare say she wishes she was…" He paused, eyes dark with horror. "She isn't even recognizable."

Desmond thought about that and smiled. "Good," he said indifferently. Stooping, he swept up the armful of laundry and shoved it into the mouse's paws. "If I see these again, and they aren't washed, bleached, ironed, and starched properly, then believe me – you will regret the day you were born." He spat the last words into the servant's face and then stepped back into his room, slamming the door shut.

_Infuriating servants_, he seethed, scowling at nothing in particular. He didn't have any more clean shirts, so he was stuck in this one for the meantime. The blood would just make it that much easier for Tombstone to track him… 'gates, he had to find a way to get rid of Tombstone.

And Kima. He'd have to find a way to kill her without Biara's help. But at least he didn't have to worry about dealing with Biara afterward. And once Kima was gone, then it was simple enough to do away with Quincy and Saveaux… though Saveaux had shown that there was more to him than met the eye.

Desmond sighed. There were still a lot of beasts to kill.

He just hoped his shirts got through it all.


	68. Heart of Darkness

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 66. ****Heart of Darkness  
**

_by Kima  
_

The pain in Kima's eyes was excruciating. It felt as though thousands of gnats were burrowing in, seeking her brain, looking for untouched flesh. They wiggled and crawled, chewed and gnawed, every second growing more painful, more agonizing. Someone, something, was screaming. Whether it was in fear or horror or disgust, she didn't know. She didn't even know if it was her or somebeast else. Kima couldn't handle it. She disappeared within herself, falling back and relinquishing control to one who might better bear it.

It was too much, even for that one.

Growling and hissing, the cat sprinted through the castle, unheeding of where her footpaws led her. Claws clicked and clacked across the stone at a frenzied pace. Her head swung back and forth in a futile effort to get rid of the irritant.

A protruding edge caught her toe, and she went sprawling to the floor, catching a nasty crack to her chin that dragged Kima's thinking self back to the forefront. For a moment, she teetered on the edge of blessed unconsciousness, but a voice demanded she stay awake. If she slipped away now, she would be completely vulnerable.

No, with the current state of things, staying alive meant staying awake. She could hardly see where she was going, but it didn't matter. She just needed to hide somewhere. Somewhere safe. Somewhere with water.

Stumbling to her footpaws, Kima kept moving, rubbing and pawing at her burning eyes. Some hidden instinct must have been guiding her. She pushed her way past a partially open door and through bleared eyes saw a large porcelain blob. Collapsing against the side, water splashed against her paws, and she hastily dunked her head beneath the surface.

Relief flooded her senses as the lukewarm water washed away the irritant. Time lost meaning as she splashed and rinsed. Slowly, slowly, the pain ebbed away, but not entirely. It was reduced to a dull throbbing. She just wanted to rest. Just close her eyes and rest…

* * *

Kima had no idea how long she slept slumped against the tub. It was the light scuffling of footpaws on stone that brought her flying back into consciousness. Leaping upright, she looked urgently about her and cried out in dismay. She was surrounded by blobs of color that refused to come into focus. Stumbling back against the tub, she stared hard at a brown blob that looked to be moving.

"Who's there?" she demanded, teeth bared.

"I apologize for disturbing you, Miss Kima." It was a female voice that Kima did not recognize. "I have been instructed to change Mr. Saveaux's bath water once a day. I did not expect to find you in here."

_Just a servant, then._ Kima relaxed somewhat, but the fact that her vision still wasn't clearing had her worrying. Rubbing at her eyes with the two furry blobs that were her paws, she looked around. No better.

_We can't stay here, Kitten._

Kima stiffened. "Go away."

"But, Miss Kima…"

"Not you!" Kima pushed angrily past the brown blob and through what she estimated was the open doorway. Once out in the hallway, she was at a loss for where to go next. _Maybe Biara has something that can fix my eyes._ She began stalking towards where the staircase to the third floor would be.

_It was Biara that did this, you remember. There's no way she'll help us._ Kima slowed to a dejected halt. The image of Nallmian slashed open and lying in a puddle of his own blood flashed again and again through her mind.

Kima groaned in remembrance, stomach turning. _What have I done?_ Bile began rising in her throat, but she hastily forced it back down.

_We did what we had to. Now let's finish the job._ She straightened and began walking resolutely towards the staircase again.

_But…!_

"Don't make me repeat myself, Kitten. There's no other option."

There was truth in that statement, and Kima knew it. She had started a chain of events that could not be stopped. She thought again of Nallmian practically flayed alive and shuddered. But no matter how she felt, there was nothing she could do.

_That's right. Nothing you can do. Now let's hurry._ Her pace quickened up the stairs, as soft and silent as ever. When she reached the top, she slowed at the sound of a very familiar voice.

"…have your orders. Now see to it."

Jeremy.

She tiptoed forward, peering around the corner at several servant-sized blobs. One carried itself with more authority than the others. Intense hatred coursed through every fiber of Kima's being. The lines between Kimas blurred more than her vision, all focused on the fuzzy apparition ahead of her. This squirrel wasn't exactly responsible for everything that had been happening until now, but he was a physical manifestation of the power behind it all. He was a manifestation that could be hurt. He could feel all the pain she had felt. She would make him feel it.

The warning to not attack servants suddenly didn't seem so frightening. If she could simply kill this thing, that warning would have no weight. Perhaps she might even draw it out a little bit. Have some fun…

A growl of approval rumbled out of her chest.

Kima watched as the blobs dispersed towards the rooms. The one she watched continued down the hallway by itself. Away from her. She flexed her muscles, preparing to jump right out and attack, but something held her back.

_Don't. We need to be a bit stealthier this time, Kitten._

_But he's right there!_

The cat hissed quietly in agreement.

She grinned. _You want to make this fun? Wait until we won't be interrupted. Take him by surprise. Wait until our impaired sight won't make a difference._

_But…!_

_We follow silently._ Leaving no room to brook disagreement, Kima crept stealthily behind the blob that was Jeremy. He disappeared through an opening in the wall and, several seconds later, she followed. It wasn't until her sensitive nose smelled the scent of decaying bodies that she realized where in the castle her quarry was leading her. Giving the blobs lying on the floor only a cursory glance of disgust, Kima looked this way and that.

There was no sign of Jeremy.

Growling in frustration, she stalked about the edge of the room. "See where sneaking around gets you? Absolutely nowhere!" Her tail lashed angrily about.

Kima stopped her stalking to look pensively at the walls of the room. Things were still just about as fuzzy as before, but if she stared really hard, small details could be made out. "He couldn't have just disappeared, Kitten. He went somewhere, and we'll find that somewhere."

_We're in a hidden room! Do you think there's going to be a hidden room inside a hidden room?_

She stepped across to the nearest wall, running a paw against the smooth stone. "Well, maybe not a hidden room…More likely a hidden passage." She continued searching along the wall. After several minutes, she moved to the next one. Her footpaw nudged something metal, and she glanced down at a circular shape that gleamed in the light.  
"Well, look what we have here."

Reaching down, she retrieved the tiara and set it lightly on her head. It settled heavily onto her ears, pushing them nearly flat. The feline smiled. "I told them it fit perfectly." Wishing she had a mirror and eyes that worked properly, she continued her search along the wall.

She was onto the third and final wall, beginning to lose hope, when she tripped over a mummified body and went sprawling to the floor. Crying out in frustration, she leapt to her feet and went into a fit of rage, viciously kicking at the corpses. They caved in pleasantly. She ended up in the middle of the room and jabbed at what looked to be a particularly large body.

There was a dull thud as her footpaw connected with the thick piece of wood. A sharp pain lanced through her leg. Yelping, she stumbled back and stared at what she had kicked. Upon close inspection, it appeared to be some kind of wooden platform, a series of ropes attached to it disappearing into a black patch in the ceiling. It briefly occurred to Kima to wonder how she had missed such a thing, but her injured eyesight provided the answer to that.

_Don't remember this being here before._ Stubbed toes forgotten, Kima stared upwards. _Think that's a hole up there?_

_Of course, Kitten. This platform had to come from somewhere._

_Think that's where the squirrel went?_

_Yes._

_Think we should follow?_

The only response was a snort as she stepped gingerly onto the platform. There appeared to be several levers rising from the platform, but they wouldn't budge beneath her ministrations.

_Well, how do we get up?_

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. _We climb, of course!_ Kima grabbed hold of one of the ropes and began scrambling upwards. The rope creaked beneath her weight, but it held out against her rather frantic paw over paw method.

By the time she reached the ceiling, her arms were shaking. Quickly, Kima reached upwards into the hole and grabbed the edge. She hung there a moment, gathering strength. An ominous odor wafted out of the patch of black, but she ignored it. _Now we'll find that squirrel, Kitten._

She shivered and glanced back down at the room below her. The bodies of the dead servants were as undefined as ever, but she could just imagine them staring up at her accusingly. _Let's just hurry. All those bodies give me the creeps._ As she hoisted herself up into the darkness, a previously half-formed thought crystallized and crashed out into the open.

She was already on the top floor, wasn't she?


	69. Newborn

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 67. ****Newborn  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

Everbeast panicked. Quincy was the first to raise his voice over the maelstrom of sound.

"Listen everybeast, just…stop…talking!"

A few paid heed, yet there were still stragglers murmuring amongst the silence. Unsurprisingly, Gregory was one.

Jolice whistled, or at least attempted to, having to clap instead to get everybeast's attention. They all stopped once they observed that their elders had done the same.

"Look," began the typical start to a speech. It was evident that Quincy was unsure of what to say next but he continued. Saveaux had begun to write as the hare spoke.

"We all need to keep our heads here, think of a way to get out."

"Why don't we just kill you?"

The anonymous speaker was never found, nor did any claim responsibility for the comment. This did not surprise Saveaux; the automatons would no doubt keep silent to save their own hides. Jolice kept a menacing gaze locked on the crowd.

Saveaux's note was ready. He passed it to Quincy.

"From Saveaux," offered the hare. "'As we are now both confined here, the most logical course of action would be to band together and find an escape route. Jeremy has no way of knowing if and when we die, therefore, any attempts to kill either Quincy or I would be fruitless. He will leave us down here indefinitely until a time at which he is sure we will have died of starvation or else dehydration.'"

"Then we wait. We wait for him to change his mind. This is a test, has to be; to see if we're loyal."

"No, Gregory," said Jolice, "It isn't."

_Stupid,_ Saveaux mentally added.

"You are trapped down here with us," said Quincy. "Jeremy thought you were so expendable that he could wall you in here as well, what does that say about what you mean to him?"

"But the professor-"

"Jeremy has done a lot on his own since we've gotten here, and Falliss hasn't stopped him once. I doubt this'll be any different," continued Quincy.

Saveaux passed him another note.

"'We are both deeply sorry that we lied to you. Deception is a tactic most dishonorable and unprofessional. I'll not ask you to see our side; I will spare you the details of how we were otherwise doomed to die in this castle at the paws of one another in order to fulfill a pointless experiment. But I will tell you that there is a part of our lie 'twas truth; the professor is aging, and, as a result, is becoming separated from the world, losing any and all regard for the sanctity of life. Even if he discovers what Jeremy is yet doing, he will not stop it; he will sit and observe because his mind is bored with the world and longs to see something new, no matter how grisly, cruel or base.'"

Silence again. At length, Hector spoke.

"Let's think about this awhile, give it time. One day, and we'll put it to a vote." It was more of a demand than a question.

All of the breeders nodded. Gradually, they dispersed to their own corners of the room.

"Over here," bid Hector from his room to the newt and hare.

They crossed to the room, closed the door behind them. Hector turned to Saveaux. The mouse offered a paw which Saveaux took and shook politely.

"You're Saveaux. You found my notes, I suppose?"

The newt nodded.

Hector sat down on his bed. Saveaux observed a change in the mouse, as if the lighting had dimmed within the room. "That was only a few days before you arrived at the castle. Seems like so much longer. But, as macabre as it is, getting walled in is the best thing that could have happened to us. They have motivation now." Hector brightened. "I was becoming so desperate to try to move them that I was going to do something on my own, until Saveaux sent you down here, Quincy."

"They listened to you, though," the hare pointed out.

Hector nodded. "Yes. Only because I could think of something while the rest of them couldn't. Being down here for so long has numbed them. They have their intellectual discussions and their games of tactics, but, bit by bit, their minds have wilted. Had I been down here for longer, I may not have been as swift as I was."

Saveaux passed Hector a note. He gave the best attempt at a smile a newt could.

'I applaud your initiative. It is refreshing to know that we have an ally among Falliss's ranks. However, supposing that we do get some of the breeders on our side; what then?'

The mouse gave his nod again, his chin stretching up, pausing, dropping suddenly.

"I have known a way out for some time. There's an abandoned monitoring station about halfway up the staircase leading to the door they're walling off now. My guess is that Falliss wanted to construct a listening station but gave up when it didn't quite work. There are boards where it meets the rest of the network, but it isn't anything that shouldn't come down with a little work." Then, sensing a question from Quincy, "I haven't used it because escaping on my own would have been foolish. It was only me who wanted to leave here until recently. Sure, I could have gotten out on my own, but what then? Moving around the castle while avoiding detection is problematic enough; were I to try to escape, I would have needed to exit via the gatehouse and that would have been impossible alone."

"It still is," said Quincy. "Falliss locked it once he told us what he was planning. We wouldn't be able to force our way through iron gates even if we had the whole castle to help."

"I know." Hector smiled. The candlelight glinted off one eye as he craned his neck. "That is why we aren't going for the exit. We are going after Falliss."

-----

'Quincy, I must see you after you are done conferring with Jolice.'

The newt waited, seated upon his makeshift bed. He was tired; though the breeders for the most part had left him and Quincy alone, he could feel their tension. More than a few times, he had caught Gregory staring at him. _Gregory irritates me,_ he had written in his journal, and said nothing more. Given current events, Saveaux found less and less solace in writing, and that had begun before being subjected to suspicious stares at every turn.

The newt found himself unwilling to blame the breeders, though, for there was much they had endured. As though their discovery that Quincy had lied to them and they were to be walled in was not enough, there was much turmoil over the final shipment of water the breeder's received; apparently, somebeast had spiked it with a compound that made some of them ill. The remaining breeders did not partake in the tainted water as soon as the symptoms appeared, limiting the afflicted to the elders and a few of the younger seniors. Yet, amidst this growing turmoil, Quincy and Saveaux were still largely ignored. Let be as they were, though, was no comfort for Saveaux. Ignored, Saveaux was left alone with his thoughts, which was why he had summoned Quincy.

There was a knock. The door opened. Quincy stood framed in the doorway for a moment, eyes no doubt adjusting to the light. The hare crossed the room and sat down next to the newt.

"You wanted to see me?"

Saveaux had begun scribbling in his notebook, handwriting at half size so as to conserve his rapidly dwindling paper supply.

'Yes. There is something which I must confess, for, in all honesty, I do not know if I shall survive tomorrow's events.'

"Saveaux, don't talk like that. It's not like Hector is planning some kind of full scale assault or anything."

'He may not have said it, but he implied it. Hector's exact words were "there shouldn't be any resistance"; that means that there might.' 'Shouldn't,' and 'might,' were underlined thrice. 'That aside, Hector has admitted the only way of escape would be through Falliss. Facing the professor means there will be blood.'  
Saveaux emptied his sole canteen down his throat, noticing the look Quincy gave him.

'In the rush, I left the majority of my water upstairs,' he explained. 'Another reason why I fear I may not survive tomorrow. Which is why I must tell you something; I tried to kill Nallmian.'

The hare stood, dropped the note. "But why? Why would you want to kill-"

The journal was thrust at Quincy, 'Sit, listen, I beg of you.'

He began to explain in slow, ambling script that took such a length to complete that he allowed Quincy to look at what he was writing whilst he wrote, in order to keep the hare's interest.

'I deemed Nallmian a threat because of his actions; you should know that, likewise, I deemed Desmond a threat. Feeling thus, I devised a plan in which I would set Tombstone, a badger assassin which Biara happened upon several nights prior, upon the squirrel. Desmond would no doubt seek protection from the badger by going to Nallmian. That was when I would do it.'

The charcoal trembled; the hand moved slower.

'Tombstone was not there when I attempted to command him, but it did not matter; Kima intervened, killing Nallmian. And then, I realized what I had done,' this last line he scratched out, replaced with, 'What I almost did.'

'Though I knew my intentions to be noble, I was comforted with the thought that, should I deem my plans immoral at any point in time, surely I would be able to reverse the damage, prevent the plan from reaching its climax. Yet, at the end,'

Saveaux began to cough, dropping his charcoal. Quincy patted the newt on the back, began to reach down for the writing instrument only to have his paw pushed out of the way. Saveaux did not want help; he retrieved the charcoal on his own.

'At the end, I asked myself, "Would I have stopped?" After thinking so much about this plan, assuring myself that what I was doing was right, would I have been able to stop myself? And then I realized, Nallmian was my friend and no matter what sort of awful or brutish things he did to others, he still helped me, rescued me when I needed him. To me, he was kind. And I realized, I would have killed my own friend. And then, I realized, no; I did kill my friend. And I didn't know how to feel about it.'

There was a silence, interrupted only by a small trio of pats the hare gave Saveaux's upper arm. Though he was focused on the floor, the newt could see Quincy out of the corner of his vision, face contorting as he attempted to think of some way to re-assure the newt, although Saveaux knew that to be impossible.

"I'm sorry," said Quincy. "I…I dunno how to feel about Nallmian being gone either. But, at least you know that he shouldn't be gone, right?"

Saveaux wrote with a trembling hand, the charcoal now reduced to a nub clasped between thumb and forefinger. 'Even that, I do not know. I can feel nothing, save pity for what has become of me after being subjected to this experiment. He has nobeast to mourn him.'

He grasped the ends of the journal tightly, starting to raise it into the air to be thrown. A paw was placed over his hand; Quincy looked him in the face.

"Saveaux, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. But,"

Quincy hesitated.

"Why did you want to kill Desmond?"

Saveaux blinked. He began to write slowly, keeping his eyes focused on Quincy. When finished, he handed his journal to the hare as though passing a sacred, poisonous amulet.

'Desmond killed Rhea. I am sorry, Quincy, but I did not want to tell you, least you violate your oath of non-violence. I thought I could spare you at least that. Yet, once again, I am proved wrong.'

He began to write another note instructing Quincy to leave and get rest, but found the hare had left the room unannounced, the slamming of the door the only clue to his exit.

Saveaux dropped his journal, lay on his back and slept. He did not dream.

-----

At one side were Quincy, Saveaux, Hector and Jolice: the two guests and two breeders who were in favor of banding together to escape the breeding room. At the other stood all of the other breeders, still undecided in what course they would take. The mouse was voicing his thoughts on the issue.

"Yesterday, we were poisoned," continued Hector. "Our final shipment of water was drugged, causing the elders who drank from it to become disoriented, nauseous, even hallucinate. Is this not proof enough that we have been forsaken by Falliss?"

There was uncomfortable stirring before Gregory spoke.

"What if…what if it was one of the guests? One of them's supposed to be a healer, right? Wouldn't that one know how to poison the lot of us if they wanted?"

A small rock struck the side of Gregory's head. Everybeast looked about, attempting to find the thrower. Nobeast looked at Saveaux.

Quincy clapped. "There will be no violence! It will get us nowhere. Now, have any of you reached your decision?"

There were murmurs and five breeders crossed over to Hector, telling the mouse that they wanted to help find an escape, then turning to those undecided and relating their piece. His group now five more strong, Hector spoke again.

"I know of a way out. I did not tell anybeast because the only way it can be used is if it is exited en masse; otherwise, escape is impossible. We may yet be able to escape with only this small group, but I am not sure if we will be able to come back for anybeast. Think on that before you make your final decision."

A few more shuffled towards the group: three elders, two younger beasts, two adult breeders. The rest remained where they were, standing near Gregory.

Jolice crossed to her room and returned with makeshift weapons for everybeast; the previous night, she and Hector had dismantled some of the furniture in order to craft them. The mouse said a few parting words, reminded all of the breeders that they could still save themselves if they caught up with the group in time, and then set off up the stairs towards the listening station. When they had arrived at the knee-high metal grate, Saveaux began looking for Quincy. The hare presented himself when the group was attempting to prize the grating off the opening; he was kicking against the grate savagely while several others used their clubs. Saveaux waited until Quincy was finished, tapped him on the shoulder, handed him a note.

'Quincy,

I have but one more request. Should you encounter any of the other guests, tell them that I died while we were attempting to gain access to the breeding room. Tell Hector I instructed you to do so in order for him to make sure nobeast contradicts this. I will hide myself among the group during the initial rush from the exit and then I will strike off on my own.

I hope to see you again, someday,

Saveaux'

Quincy looked down, about to ask the newt why he had made such a request, but found Saveaux had dissolved into the crowd.

-----

They had to crawl through the new opening in the wall, one at a time and in a line. When they were all able to stand, they were packed in with only three inches of space between them, a wooden wall barring their way. Using furniture legs, the more able bodied breeders and Quincy began destroying the barrier, a long, arduous process. Freed, there was a rush through the hole and out into the torchlight of the castle, brandishing their weapons in case they met with resistance while Quincy and Hector urged them all to keep silent. Saveaux waited until they were three minutes gone.

Dry, the newt stumbled into the hall, turned the opposite direction the group had gone. He was alone. That was good. It would be easier to continue.

The newt sniffed the air, searching for the nearly imperceptible scent of water. The smell he sought emanated from ahead and to the left; he set off in that direction.

First water, then his mission.


	70. Beware the Smile

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 68. ****Beware the Smile  
**

_by Biara  
_

Biara slit an eye open and looked up groggily from her position sprawled on the ground. The coldness of the stones suggested she was in the basement, and the scent of blood in the air made her think of the room she'd designated for research, although the marten conceded that it could also be her blood. The back of her head felt as if she'd been carelessly dragged down every single set of steps in the castle, and looking at the face of the surly otter servant standing several paces in her front of her, it seemed very likely that was exactly what had happened.

The healer ignored the pain and rose shakily to her footpaws, glancing cautiously at the otter. "Have you been staring at me this whole time?" she asked, quirking an ear to the side. The otter growled low in his throat in response, looking as if he'd like nothing better than to knock the marten out again.

"You should be thankful that the Professor condemned us from hurting you," he spat, not bothering to mask the hatred in his voice, "but mark my words, marten; you'll pay for what you've done to us."

Biara had a vague notion that she should stay quiet, but she was in one of those moods where she just couldn't take anything seriously. She grinned. "Splendid! Was there anything else, or were you just going to threaten me some more?"

Scowling venomously, the otter flung a scrap of parchment, which didn't quite make it to the pine marten and fluttered lazily to the ground. She bent down to pick it up, eyes flashing over the words.

_Biara,  
Desmond is in grave danger. He is being held somewhere on the third floor. If you wish to save him, you must do so immediately; time is short, and any hesitation on your part will result in the loss of his life.  
~Professor Falliss_

Biara read through the letter once more. _Desmond is probably in an unspeakable amount of pain right now. Close to death, too._

The pine marten grinned from ear to ear. _It's about time that squirrel bloody well learned to help himself, I say._

The marten healer looked up from the parchment, but blinked when she realized that the otter was gone. _Oh well._ Biara couldn't believe her luck; two of the guests were being sealed in the breeding room, probably in terrible pain from the contaminated water, while another was dying at that very moment, and all without her having to even bloody her paws. With a curl of her tail, the tall marten strode out of the room…

… and right into a mouse wielding a wooden table leg. It was difficult to say which beast was more surprised, and it was only thanks to Biara's reflexes that she wasn't brained by the flailing weapon. However, it still managed to land a glancing blow that sent the healer spinning to the ground. She rolled aside as the table leg smashed down on where her head had been just seconds ago, and the marten sprang to her footpaws, unsheathing her knife with a snarl. _Why do woodlanders have to be so violent?!_

A quick study of her opponent's stance proved that the mouse really didn't know what he was doing. Biara feinted left, and the mouse tried awkwardly to block the hit just as Biara shifted her weight and sliced right. Bulling the smaller beast to the ground, she kicked him savagely, the cracking noise making her feel just a little better.

"It's one of Falliss' beasts! Get her!"

Biara paused. At least a score of beasts, both woodlander and vermin, were charging toward her, each one wielding his own makeshift weapon. _Oh bugger._

Valiantly, the marteness immediately turned tail and ran.

The beasts in pursuit were clearly not used to running for any length of time. By the time Biara had made it to the top of the stairs, the voices of the other beasts seemed a fair distance away. Pressing herself flat against the stone wall, she closed her eyes and flicked her ears forward, straining to pick up the conversation.

"Where did she go?"

"Where do you think? The only escape is through the stairs to the upper floors."

"Are you all right, Denning?"

"Now just hold on a tic, everybeast." Biara pounded a fist lightly against the wall in frustration; that voice belonged to a most definitely alive and non-trapped Quincy. "What happened just now?"

"I was jumped by one of Falliss' servants."

Biara snorted. _Typical woodlander._

The servant continued. "She ran away, though."

"Are you sure she was a servant?" Quincy again. "What sort of beast was she? What did she look like?"

"A pine marten. Tall. She had a funny looking scar on her snout." Biara really wished she could give the mouse another good kick.

"Well, she wasn't a servant, but at least she didn't hurt you too badly. Hector, Jolice; you stay here for just a bit, tend to Denning. I'm going to see if I can find her."

Biara imagined she could simply kill the hare without any beast being the wiser, but dismissed the thought. _I might as well see what he's doing._ She peeked around the corner just as Quincy started ascending the stairs.

"Hello, Biara." Quincy rapidly closed the distance between the two of them. "Are you all right? Sorry about what happened down there." He paused, as if unsure how to phrase what he was about to say. "You didn't really attack Denning, did you?"

Biara tittered. "I should say not! I ran into him quite by accident, and before I knew what happening, I was being assaulted with furniture."

Quincy gave a long-suffering sigh. "Right. Didn't meant to suspect you like that, miss, it's just that it's impossible to tell who to trust in this bloody castle." Biara nodded sympathetically, and Quincy continued. "Saveaux told you about the breeding room servants, right?"

"Yes." The marten reacted quickly. "In fact, I was going to visit the two of you last night, but at that point it was quite impossible; the room was in the process of being sealed up, and there were armed servants everywhere." A look of frustration crossed her features. "I came back just now to try and find any sort of secret entrance way, but there was nothing." She paused, tapping a claw to her cheek. "Just how did you manage to escape, anyway?"

"It was thanks to Hector, really," Quincy explained. "He's one of the servants. Showed us a secret way out."

The marten nodded. "I see. Are those all of the servants down there?"

Quincy shifted momentarily. "Er, not quite. We couldn't get all of them to agree to come with us, but I think we're still enough for the task if we work together." Biara angled her ears forward and he went on. "We're going to find Falliss and put a stop to this madness ourselves. It's the only way we're ever going to escape."

Biara blinked. "Do you know where his chambers are?"

"I don't, no," Quincy responded, "but Hector does. We're leaving soon. If we can get there before the servants realized we've found a way to escape, we might not meet as much resistance on the way."

"Is Saveaux with you?" Biara asked hopefully.

Quincy averted his gaze. "Somebeast poisoned the water supply. He was already close to dehydration as it was, and…"

Biara quirked her ears outward, genuinely surprised. Although Saveaux's new found independence and decided lack of gratitude had surely grated on her nerves, she had to grudgingly respect him for not trusting her unconditionally, something which she would have expected more from Nallmian. It was hard to imagine that the resilient newt had simply dropped dead.

"Yes, amphibians cannot live long deprived of water. A dreadful way to die, really." Biara was not quite sure what else to say at such a moment. If her poison had to have killed one of the beasts, she would rather preferred it be the hare, and for that she was sorry. However, she supposed that wouldn't make Quincy feel particularly better. "I do have antidotes, but we'll have to more cautious from now on."

Quincy glanced at the marten for a moment before speaking again. "What happened to Kima? Is she still alive?"

"I haven't seen Kima, but she was wounded and is most likely hiding." She grinned smugly, "Although without a healer, she's not likely to last very long." The marten continued with a careless flick of her bushy tail. "I suppose it's only right to find out where she is, though. She must be dealt with."

"Right." Quincy nodded, setting his jaw grimly.

"I'll go looking for her now, in fact. Wouldn't want a silly thing like being attacked get in the way of your assault on the Professor," Biara said lightly. "I'll try to find you again once I'm done."

For a moment it looked like Quincy was about to object, but he just nodded. "Fine." He turned as if to start heading back down to the basement, when he stopped. "I'm, er, sorry about Nallmian…" he said, awkwardly. "It's hard to lose a friend."

"Oh." _Er, friend; right._ The marten's ears drooped. "There was nothing I could do. He was injured quite badly; it was a very bloody business, I'm afraid."

There was another awkward silence before Biara continued. "Well, I should be going now. I've got a wildcat to find." She dipped her head and turned around to leave.

"Hold on, Biara." The marten did so, blinking inquisitively. "Have you seen Desmond about?"

"Oh, yes. He's quite dead, actually," Biara reported. "I only came across his body, mind you, but it was clear that the poor chap died from various slice wounds, in particular a major artery was sliced nearly in half. Only more reason to find Kima as soon as possible!"

Before the astonished hare could respond, Biara was striding briskly away. At least Saveaux and Desmond were truly and surely dead; besides Kima, those were the ones who she knew would be trouble.

Biara trotted up the steps to the second floor and slunk out into the hall. The marten pricked her ears; she could hear heavy pawsteps from somewhere not so far away. Standing right where she was, the marten watched as the behemoth form of Tombstone the badger rounded the corner. She felt her muscles tighten and her stomach churned as the badger's dull gaze met her own. However, it immediately turned around and started lumbering toward the opposite stairwell. Biara blinked. _That's odd. I wonder who it's after now. Perhaps it doesn't know that Desmond is dead._

Guided by curiosity, the marten followed the badger as it squeezed its mammoth frame into the stairwell and started its descent. She found her paw inching toward the scalpel in her cloak pocket as she gazed at the creature's exposed back, but then realized how much she preferred her internal organs staying right where they were and left it alone. If she was lucky, the beast would lead her to where Kima was, and then all Biara would have to do was watch as it crushed what life was left in the cat.

Then she would make herself some tea and relax while Quincy had his little war with Falliss. Life was certainly good!


	71. A Beautiful Day

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 69. ****A Beautiful Day  
**

_by Kima  
_

Kima clambered out of the hole and stood up, looking around with a mixture of caution and curiosity. It was dimly lit, a single torch providing illumination. Shadows were heavy, and it was near impossible for her to determine any kind of details. She twitched her ears. Silence reigned uncontested; it was stifling. Her nose wrinkled as the smell from below intensified. It was still impossible to define, but it was stale and musty and not at all pleasant.

She shivered. She couldn't put her paw on it – it was no more dreary than anywhere else in the castle – but this place felt different. More sinister. Kima glanced down at the hole in the floor. All of a sudden, the idea of walking around amongst those corpses didn't seem so bad. Maybe it would be better to leave. She took a step backwards.

_No, Kitten. Keep going. If Jeremy is up here, we're going to find him._

_But something up here just doesn't feel right…_

_Well then, let's go make it right, hm? We're already up here._

There was a brief moment of disagreement, but Kima reluctantly consented. She began walking, listening carefully for any noises. The hallway curved constantly up and to the left, lit only by an occasional torch as it wended its way along. The smell was growing stronger, and there was still no sign of Jeremy.

Kima rounded a bend in the hallway and stopped. The hallway ended abruptly, opening into a large room whose walls she could hardly make out. Nothing moved.

_Where's Jeremy?_ Peering around, she padded in further. Her footpaw brushed something and she glanced down. It was something white. She crouched to get a closer look, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized what it was: a skull, teeth grinning and empty eye sockets staring right at her. Why was that here? Unless…

_Falliss has to eat._

A chill ran up her spine. There were patches of white everywhere, scattered all about the room. Kima felt her stomach churn. _But surely he wouldn't eat his own servants._ What an abominable thought: eating those who worked for you. Trusted you.

_What do you think they did with all the guests?_

"No…" Kima stared hard at the skull. It looked to have belonged to a mouse at one time. _Raine._

Her paw flew to her muzzle, and she staggered against a wall, tripping over bones along the way. The smell of death and decay was suddenly overwhelming. Tears welled in her ruined eyes. "No. No no!" Kima cried out in anguish and clenched her head between her paws. Of all the things Falliss had done! She thought he had done his worst – thought she had hated and despised him as much as one could.

And now this.

Anger bubbled up from within the very core of her being. The cat neared the surface, eagerly trying to break out. Gone were all thoughts of killing Jeremy. He was unimportant. Just a pawn. Falliss was the real problem. Kill him and everything ended. Kill him and everything would be better. Kill him. Kill Falliss.

Kima set her jaw resolutely and looked up. Yes, she would kill Falliss. This had to be his quarters. Wherever he was right now, he was bound to come back. All she had to do was wait.

Kima blinked and rubbed at her eyes. She was staring at a patch of blue. It was several long seconds before realization dawned. A window! She staggered disbelievingly across and leaned out over the sill. An explosion of color greeted her as she gazed out. A brilliant white spread out below her, a dazzling blue above. A gentle breeze caressed her whiskers. She breathed deeply and continued to stare. The winter air was invigorating and fresh; the best thing she had ever smelled.

It was so calm and peaceful. She could stand here all day simply taking in the outside world.

_Let's go, Kitten! Out the window. We can climb down._ Kima lifted a footpaw towards the window sill, but stopped herself.

Her blue eyes were hard. Determined. _No._

_What do you mean 'no'? Now's our chance to escape!_ She tried to move, but nothing happened.

_We're going to kill Falliss first._

_But we can escape right now! Falliss is old. Let time have its way._ Her voice was urgent, frantic almost.

She took one last look at that bright outside world – that world of freedom and happiness. One step and she could be free of this madness. It was very tempting, but she couldn't. _Let's get the others first._ She turned away and found herself face to blurry face with Jeremy.

"What are you doing up here?" He grabbed her by the throat.

Kima acted on reflex, hissing and scratching at the squirrel's face. There was a satisfying snarl of pain and the grip on her neck loosened. Twisting free, she leapt up onto the windowsill. The gold tiara rolled off her head and out the window as she nearly lost her balance.

Jeremy grabbed her tail and yanked her back inside. She howled and spun around, teeth bared. The squirrel whacked the side of her head, and she toppled to the floor. A footpaw settled onto her throat, pushing down and cutting off her air. Writhing, Kima scrabbled at the footpaw, eyes rolling upwards. The world began to fade away.

"That's quite enough, Jeremy. She's still a specimen in my experiment, after all."

Kima went completely still at that voice. He was here. The demented creature responsible for this entire thing was here standing not a foot away. She could see his bleary face staring down at her.

"Yes, Sire."

The pressure on her throat lessened, but only enough to allow her to draw in rasping breaths. A drawn-out growl rumbled from her chest. Her tail lashed madly about. "Falliss." Her voice was rough and savage-sounding. She hardly recognized it.

The footpaw pressed down ever so slightly. "You will refer to his Lordship as Professor or Sir."

"It's quite all right, Jeremy. Miss Kima, I applaud your ingenuity in discovering my chambers, but I must ask you to return to the lower floors of the castle until the experiment has reached completion. A premature departure just wouldn't do."

"Did you eat Raine?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"You monster!" Kima renewed her struggle, hissing and spitting as she tried to free herself. The footpaw again pressed down. Black tinged her vision. At a second admonition from the owl, Jeremy again relieved the pressure – although not as much as before.

"A monster?" Falliss sounded genuinely confused. "My dear Miss Kima, I expected you, of all the guests, to understand. I have provided you with the finest food I have to offer. Surely you don't expect me to withhold such a privilege from myself?"

"We aren't food!"

"And I suppose you also did not try to eat your fellow guests?"

Kima felt her face flush. "That's different."

"I fail to see the difference. Jeremy, please escort Miss Kima back to the third floor."

"Yes, Sire."

Kima was bodily hoisted to her feet, arms held painfully behind her as she was marched towards the hallway. She wrenched her head around and glared at the room behind her. "Falliss, I'm going to kill you!"

Falliss' voice sounded utterly unconcerned as he replied, "Fascinating."

Jeremy growled and increased the pace. Once a ways down the hallway, Kima tried to free herself, but a knee in the small of her back sent her tumbling to the floor. It wasn't until she felt the floor lowering that she realized she was on the lift. She screamed at herself to get up, but her bruised body wouldn't listen.

Next thing she knew, Jeremy was prodding her none-to-gently with his footpaw. Her body began to roll. She could feel the edge of the platform.

"Happy landing."

Her heart leapt into her throat as she went tumbling, limbs flailing wildly. She hit the stone floor with a sickening crunching sound. Pain exploded all over her body as her breath was ripped from her lungs. She lay there, mouth opening and closing, unable to make a sound for several minutes.

Finally, the pain receded to a dull ache – something she was getting used to. Except for her arm, which felt as though it was being put through a meat grinder. Groaning, Kima rolled up into a sitting position. She tried to move her arm and gave a mewl of pain. Broken.

She looked up at the ceiling. There was no trace of the platform. _That was extremely stupid, Kitten! We could have escaped back there._

_Shut up._ Kima slowly stood to her feet and swayed for a moment, but managed to not fall over. She grit her teeth against the pain in her arm.

_Where are you going now?_

_I'm going to find the others._ Left arm hanging limply, she plodded from the room.

The castle was eerily silent – even more so than usual. Where was everybeast else?

An image of the other four guests lying in pools of their own blood flashed through her mind, but Kima pushed it resolutely away. "No, they're not dead yet. They can't be dead yet."

In one of the rooms – she no longer knew whose it was – she discovered a secret passageway behind the smashed mirror. Shuddering at the thought of breaking a mirror, she stepped gingerly through the frame. So this was how their every move was watched.

Kima walked down the passageway, rounded a corner, and nearly tripped over Saveaux. "Savoh!" Relief flooded her voice. "You're still alive!"

The newt scrambled a safe distance away from her. Kima held up a panicked paw. She could hardly see him now. "Wait, don't go! I don't want to hurt you." Her voice cracked despite herself. Saveaux sounded as though he had stopped moving, so she went on. "I found how to get to Falliss' quarters."

"Reeaa…aal…ly?"

"Yes. And Savoh, I…I found a window." Kima smiled at the memory. "A window. It's a beautiful day, Savoh! There's fresh snow everywhere, and the sky is so blue…We can get out! I know it! If we work together with everybeast else, I know we can get back up there."

There was a scratching as Saveaux wrote something on a scrap of parchment. Cautiously coming closer, he handed it to Kima.

She tried to read it, but all she could see were blurred scribbles. She crumpled it up in frustration. "I – I can't read this, Savoh. My eyes…they don't work very well anymore."

"Kill…Naaa…llmii…aan."

"Yes. You're right. I killed Nallmian." Kima buried her face in her good paw and collapsed to her knees. "Ugh, it was awful! I didn't want to. Not really."

Saveaux came a little closer.

_Let's get him, Kitten!_

The cat purred in anticipation.

_No! Don't you dare!_ "Savoh, stay away! Please, don't come too close. I may not be able to…control myself." She felt a tiny paw on her shoulder and looked up into the newt's large eyes.

"Fiiind…Ooo…thers."


	72. A Fatal Flaw in the Logic

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 70. ****A Fatal Flaw in the Logic  
**

_by Quincy  
_

Quincy made his way back down to the others. So, Desmond was dead then? As far as Biara knew, it was only the two of them and Kima left, and Quincy knew exactly what Biara meant when she said that Kima had to be "dealt" with. The cat had not killed Rhea, as it had turned out, but she was still dangerous. His memory of the wild gleam in her eye still haunted the hare.

_Well, at least Rhea's killer got what he deserved,_ said a small voice within him.

_No, don't think like that. It must have been an accident. Surely Rhea had startled Desmond in her rush to find Kima..._

"Quincy?"

The hare shook his head fiercely, jogging himself back to the here and now. "Sorry, what?"

Hector leaned on his makeshift club. "I said, what did the marten have to say for herself then?"

"She said it was self-defense, basically. We startled her is all. Look, is Denning all right?"

"He's okay," said Jolice, "but he's not going anywhere any time soon."

Denning winced as the haremaid slung his broken arm in a strip of her cloak.

"Well, we can't just leave him here," said Quincy. "Here, let's put him in Sootpaws's old room."

Hector and Quincy lifted the mouse and carried him into the vacated basement guest room. It had since been cleaned of wine bottles and assorted debris. Together they laid the mouse on the bed as Jolice and the breeders filed in behind them. Jolice was looking very somber, though Quincy wasn't surprised; in the end, Althea had chosen to remain in the breeding room with Vincent.

"Right, don't worry, chap, you'll be fine," said Quincy bracingly to Denning, though his gaze remained on Jolice as he said it. "Here, a swig of this will help too."

He found a bottle of some clear, foul-smelling spirit on one of the shelves and poured Denning a small amount in a clean mug.

"A sip of that will help numb the pain. Unfortunately, that's about the extent of my healing knowledge. Take a sip whenever the pain gets to be too much, lad. Once Falliss has been taken care of, we'll get one of the servants to patch you up."

Meanwhile, Hector had opened up a secret panel behind a mirror on the far side of the room. Quincy whistled softly.

"I say, that's a clever trick. So this is how they've known what we're up to."

Quincy was just about to step inside the hidden passageway when a paw stayed his arm. Turning, he saw Hector glaring at him with a most curious expression.

"Er, something wrong, chap?"

"The Professor was going to choose another hare, you know," the mouse said. "He sent that vole Obadiah to do months and months of research. A fighting hare from Salamandastron would be the finishing touch to his experiment, for who knew how a warlike hare would act in such close quarters to vermin? He had an enterprising young hare all selected. But then, a mere month before the experiment was set to begin, a wildfire of gossip sprang up about a hare that had thrown down his weapon for good, so Obadiah took note of him too. In the end, the Professor chose you."

"And...who was his first choice?" Quincy asked.

"A hare called Rockleap."

He'd been expecting that, somehow. "Well, that's just great," he growled. "Thank you for letting me know that if I had carried on killing needlessly, my friend turned enemy might have ended up in this mess instead. I feel loads better now."

"The point I am trying to make," Hector continued, "is that perhaps Falliss might have included you partially to get in the way of any attempts on his life. He had to have known that eventually his guests would come looking for him. He knew you were a strong beast and capable of defending yourself, and perhaps he'd guessed you would make it this far. What I need to know is this, Quincy: _are you going to get in the way of what needs to be done_?"

"Now hold on a second!" Quincy snapped. "What exactly needs to be done, in your opinion?"

Everyone kept telling him their version of the way beasts in the castle were supposed to be dealt with, and he was getting sick and tired of it. He thought perhaps since Saveaux had struck off on his own that he would be able to more easily convince them not to actually kill Falliss.

Hector's eyes narrowed. "Falliss is pure evil. Lives mean nothing to him. He must die if the rest of us are to live."

"How does killing Falliss make us any better than he is?" said Quincy indignantly. "What gives any of us the right to take a life, or to judge who gets to live or die?"

He felt Jolice's arm link in his, but it gave him no comfort. He was guessing the haremaid wouldn't actually take his side and it made him feel like shoving her away.

Hector sighed; it was clear he was quickly becoming annoyed with the hare. "And just what do you propose we do? Leave Falliss alive?" Quincy opened his mouth to respond, but Hector held up a silencing paw. "No, I don't want to hear your reasoning; it will just make me angrier with you. You're a wise beast, Quincy, but also young and naïve. The problem with you and other young beasts like you is that you see everything in terms of black and white."

"Sometimes that's the way things are!" Quincy snarled.

"Sometimes, Quincy, sometimes," Hector chided, "but not here. Do you have any idea what will happen if we let Falliss live and somehow manage to get him to let us out? He'll start another experiment, and even more innocent creatures will die, as long as he lives."

"But if we can just get the servants..."

"You won't get the servants to believe anything other than what Falliss has made them believe. They live to serve him, and will continue to do so as long as he lives."

Quincy thought for a moment. "But you changed your mind about Falliss! If you can do it, they can, right?"

"Oh Quincy, if only it were that simple." Hector shook his head. "One or two servants may have a strong will, but you will find that the masses are highly ignorant and much more susceptible to Falliss's brainwashing."

"Oh that's right," said Quincy, "devalue their lives, it'll make them easier to kill someday."

"I value life." It was clearly taking a great deal of effort for Hector to remain calm. "I will ask you only once not to imply that I don't. Servants like myself have lived our whole lives here and have never seen the sun, save through whatever tiny arrow slits we might come across, or if we are lucky enough to be allowed out. I would say I have a greater appreciation of life than you ever will."

"Is that why you're going to destroy it?"

"Destroy it, yes, but only to preserve it! If we take this one life, Quincy, we'll save your life, Biara's life, Saveaux's life, Desmond's life, Kima's life, and the life of all servants! Don't you see that's what the Salamandastron hares were doing? They only killed those that would kill them, to prevent seeing their young babes slaughtered mercilessly before their eyes, which is what would have happened had they all thrown down their weapons like you."

Quincy lifted Hector by the lapels and slammed him bodily against the wall. "I've had enough of you, Hector!" he snarled in the mouse's face. "You have no idea what it was like! They were drinking and stuffing themselves and _happy_ for the lives they'd taken!"

Hector just gave a satisfied smile. "You really are naïve."

"Shut up!" the hare yelled, shaking Hector in his rage.

The mouse's smile only broadened, though his eyes were hard as flints. "What are you going to do, Quincy? Are you going to _kill_ me? No, I think not. If you'll stop throwing this tantrum, I will educate you about something."

"I don't want to hear it," Quincy spat, but he let the mouse go all the same.

"It's sad that even I understand the activities of a hare better than you," said Hector. "Hares are no stranger to bloodshed, and while they are naturally highly resilient creatures, one can only be so resilient. Those hares weren't happy for the killing they'd done. They were celebrating that they still had their lives afterward, that their home and their families were safe. They made light of things simply because it was the only way to stay sane in that situation, instead of throwing down their weapons and giving up, as you did."

"I didn't...I didn't give up," Quincy stammered. "I changed my life to a life of peace."

"No, Quincy. You gave up. You couldn't handle the pressure. You were terrified of the madness of it all, terrified at what you could do. You let the fear consume you instead of conquering it."

Jolice had grabbed his arm again. Quincy's vision blurred, and he blinked, surprised at his own tears as they leaked from his eyes. He turned away, scrubbing his face quickly with a paw.

"That's, that's not true," he murmured.

"You're a good creature, Quincy Tulep, but you'd better stay out of my way." Hector hefted his club. "Come on, let's go get Falliss."

Hector entered the secret passageway. One by one the breeders filed after him, until finally Jolice let go of Quincy's arm.

"I'm so sorry, Quincy," she said, and disappeared.

Quincy stood in the middle of the room, tears flowing freely. Hector was wrong about him. He was not afraid. He'd faced the professor's challenge and had made it this far. He'd seen friends die here and was still of sound mind. Why did it always have to come to death? Why couldn't there be another way?

Quincy heard a cough behind him, and remembered that Denning was still in the room. There had to be another way. Still unsure of what that other way could be, Quincy darted into the passageway.

* * *

The hare quickly lost count of the twists and turns in the narrow passages. Still, Hector seemed to know where he was going, and Quincy followed patiently. The air grew steadily colder, until Hector finally stopped.

"We're very near his chambers," he whispered. "Weapons at the ready."

Hector started forward. There was a clicking sound from somewhere deep within the wall. Hector looked down at the wire stretched across the floor that he'd just tripped with his leg, and the next thing Quincy knew he was bulling forward, shoving breeders out of the way.

"Get down!" he cried, throwing himself at Hector in a flying tackle. As they fell to the floor there was a whooshing sound, followed by excruciating pain.

Two axe blades had sprung out of hidden slits in the wall and were currently both crossed in the center of the hallway, right where Hector's head had been. Quincy writhed on the floor, groaning at the white hot pains shooting through his head.

"Quincy! Are you all right?" Jolice's voice sounded.

"Great seasons, that blade sliced right through his ear, look!"

A few feet away, Quincy could see the tip of his left ear lying forlornly on the ground. His ears were wet with his own blood, and the pain was surprisingly intense. Jolice came to his side, but he jerked away.

"Don't touch it, it's fine!" he cried.

Hector looked decidedly shaken. "But...I don't remember there being any traps!"

"Hector!" Jolice said. "I hate to say this, but we can't continue on. If Falliss has one trap set up now, he'll have more."

"No! We can't quit! He must die!" the mouse snarled.

"_You_ almost died, Hector," said Jolice softly.

Hector cracked his club hard against the wall, yelling in frustration. "Fine! We go, and we think of a way to draw Falliss out. He will die today, mark my words!"

"Come on Quincy, up you get." Jolice helped Quincy to his footpaws. The hare winced, his vision blurry again, and allowed Jolice to guide him back down the passage as they made their retreat.


	73. Epiphany

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 71. ****Epiphany  
**

_by Desmond  
_

Desmond, fatigued from the day's excursion, tried to nap, but only succeeded in dozing fitfully. For one thing, he was worried that Tombstone would arrive while he was asleep and quietly smash him, and for another, his head felt like somebeast was repeatedly hitting it with a mallet.

He wasn't sure when he'd last been so miserable, and the death of Biara was of little consolation. At least if she were alive, she could do something about his awful headache, he thought sullenly to himself.

The squirrel blinked. Biara was dead, but her herbs were still in her room, he realized, brightening. And her room was just across from his, so provided Tombstone wasn't lurking just outside the door, it would be a simple matter to just traipse across the hall and see if he could find anything amongst her belongings that would help.

Desmond forced himself to rise, shuffle to the door, and survey the hall before he ventured out of the room and hurried across to the marten's chamber. If only he hadn't told Tombstone to kill Falliss! He mentally berated himself for the mistake as he fumbled with the doorknob and then slipped into the room.

He arched one eyebrow. The room was clean, but the rug had multiple bloodstains that wouldn't come out with any amount of scrubbing; he hadn't noticed them earlier, because he'd had Kima on his mind, but now they jumped out at him. Edging around the spots, he looked around, unsure of where to search; where had Biara kept her store of herbs? She'd had the small bag that she normally carried with her, but she must have had more somewhere; otherwise, her supplies would have run out some time ago.

_The dresser_, he decided, thinking it was as good a place as any to start. The first drawer was empty, and the second was full of clothing, as was the third; Desmond rummaged through them in hope of finding something useful hidden underneath, but to no avail.

He blinked owlishly. Was that lace…?!

Curiously, he pulled the obtrusive garment from the third drawer and held it up, amused; a dress! Who would have thought? Desmond giggled.

"Biara, in a dress?" His eyes widened in horror. "Perish the thought!" He tossed the ruffled gown aside and resumed his search through the room. The closet was next, and he was gratified to find a bag that smelled strongly of herbs. Desmond lugged it to the bed and sat down on the edge, eyes watering; Jeremy was going to _pay_ for giving him this awful headache.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore the throbbing as he emptied the bag onto the bed, jumbling the contents. The labels on most of the bags and bottles were foreign to him, and he wracked his brain, trying to remember what was good for headaches. There was some kind of tea Willikins used to serve him when he'd had one…

Willow. That was it. Willow tea. It was nasty, bitter stuff, but it did help… Desmond rummaged through the various herbs, tossing aside the packages with unfamiliar labels. One captured his eye, and his breath caught in his throat as he stared at the label. _Hemlock_.

The fact that Biara would carry poisons as well as medicines came as no surprise, and Desmond set the bag aside after a moment, making a mental note to take it with him. It might be useful later on, though the chances of the remaining guests sitting down to a peaceful dinner with each other seemed less likely all the time.

His paws shook slightly, and he looked back down at the remaining herbs, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. _Willow. Find Willow bark…_

Hemlock.

*

"I won't do it," she told him, voice shaking. "I don't want to." She was beautiful, despite the troubled look on her face, the disarray of her clothing, and her mussed headfur. Desmond had known for a long time that every eligible male would be eager to marry his sister; he'd just been waiting for one rich enough to speak up.

If only she weren't being so obstinate about it all!

Desmond watched her with an inscrutable gaze. "Marie," he said, as gently as he could, "I need you to do this for me. Gerard's a decent beast – he'll take good care of you. You'll want for nothing with him."

"I don't care." She hugged herself, turning away from him. "I don't love him. He frightens me."

Desmond fought to keep his irritation off his face. He loved his sister, but she didn't understand – couldn't she see that there was no alternative for either of them? "Marie," he grated, "We have no choice."

"What do you mean?" She spun around to glare at him, and he could see that she'd been crying. The tears made him guilty, and he sat, stunned as she ranted at him. "Of course we have a choice, Desmond. We're not about to be thrown into the streets; we're in no danger from anything. You don't need the price Gerard's offered for me, you just want it."

Desmond shook his head. She didn't understand.

"Desmond…" Her face twisted and she covered it with her paws, sinking into one of the chairs as she sobbed.

The male rose and strode to her side, resting a paw on her shoulder. "Marie," he whispered desperately, "It has to be done. You'll be happy, I promise you – I'll come to see you every day…"

She jerked away from him, struggling to her footpaws and staring at him, stricken. "I'd sooner die," she spat. "I'll take hemlock before I marry a beast I don't love."

Desmond felt a growl rising in his throat. "You'll do no such thing," he snarled, and slapped her across the face. "Stop your crying, Marie. He's coming within the hour to see you, and I expect you to look your best." He grasped her shoulders, meeting her frightened eyes with a hard, blue gaze. "Is that understood?"

She gulped, biting down a sob. "You've changed," she whispered, fear widening her eyes. "You've become obsessed with rising in power…"

Desmond cut her off. "That's my affair, not yours," he snapped. "I have done everything to regain the status we had before that drunk we called father lost it all through his idiocy. And what have you done? Nothing." He swallowed, trying to ignore the hurt in her face. "All I ask," he growled, "Is that you do as I say and try to look pretty when your suitor comes. And if you so much as think about killing yourself, I'll see to it that you spend the remainder of your time here locked in the basement." He released her shoulders and turned away. "Go get dressed. He'll be here soon."

She didn't move for a moment.

"Go!" he screamed at her, and she stumbled from the room.

*

It was ironic… That he'd gone to so much effort to keep her alive, to see that his plans were carried out. And she'd ended up dead anyway, and it had been his fault. Desmond stared at nothing, lost in thought. He'd had his vengeance – Gerard had thought he could murder her and sweep the evidence under the rug, placing the blame on another beast, but he hadn't counted on Desmond's having multiple criminal connections. In short, Gerard had ended up with a lifetime in prison, and Desmond had gotten very, very wealthy.

How nice poverty seemed, in retrospect.

Desmond frowned, forcing the memory from his mind. "Willow bark," he muttered and was surprised to find that he was holding the appropriate package in his paw. He shrugged and gathered it and the hemlock together and tiptoed to the door, repeating the ritual of checking the hall before exiting the room.

Once back in his bedroom, he hid the hemlock under the bed and then puzzled over the willow bark; he would have to make tea, he realized, which meant that he'd need water. Desmond gulped, trying to ignore the fear that seized him as he prepared to leave for the kitchen. The sense of safety that he felt in his room was just an illusion, he knew – he was no safer there than in any other part of the castle. Still, he was reluctant to leave it, and he had to force himself to depart, the bag of willow bark tucked into one pocket.

*

It wasn't 'til he got to the first floor that he realized he was being followed. At first, there were just out of place noises behind him, but when he turned, nobeast was there; soon after, he could hear pawsteps, pausing when he stopped, quickening when he picked up his pace. Desmond hurried along, hoping against hope that it wasn't who he thought it was…

He glanced back and caught a glimpse of the dark fur and white head-stripe. _Hellgates!_

Desmond fled.

He circled around the dining room and rushed to the stairway to the basement, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste. Tombstone would be slower on the stairs – it would buy him a few minutes…

_For what?_ he wondered vaguely. Once he was there, then what? There was nobeast to save him this time – hide. He would hide.

The squirrel tripped down the last few steps, heart pounding as he heard the badger behind him. He ran past the kitchen entrance and on to the door of the storage room; if nothing else, there should be plenty of good hiding places inside. Throwing the door open, he burst inside, hardly taking the time to close it behind him.

Desmond looked around and almost cried with despair; shelves! There didn't seem to be any good places, but it was too late; if he tried to find somewhere else, he was dead for sure. Desmond's eyes narrowed – was that a door…? A closet! Hurrying over to it, he opened it and surveyed the contents; linens. It wasn't the choicest spot, but there was no other place. Making room behind a stack of blankets on the lowest shelf, he worked his way in and pulled the door shut as far as he could before pulling one of the blankets over him; he couldn't tell how effective it would be, but it at least gave him a moment to think.

He held his breath. The storage room door had creaked open.

Desmond closed his eyes. It was as if his brain had frozen – he couldn't feel, couldn't move, couldn't think. The sound of the badger's heavy pawsteps met his ears, only a little muffled by the blanket. He could hear the beast sniffing the air, and he wondered if he still smelt of vinegar; the stench had been on him so long, he couldn't distinguish it any longer.

He was stuck, he realized with despair. He was going to die, wasn't he…

Desmond waited.


	74. Everything's Under Control

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 72. ****Everything's Under Control  
**

_by Kima  
_

Kima followed Saveaux with quiet steps. She didn't bother trying to memorize the many twists and turns as they traversed the passageways. Instead, she focused on keeping the newt within her sight. Too far away, and he blurred to nothing.

_He wouldn't know what hit him._

_No! We don't have to kill anybeast else! We can escape with everybeast alive!_

_A little late for that, Kitten._

Kima stubbornly ignored the truth in that statement. "Do you know where the others are, Savoh?"

The newt didn't respond for several seconds. "…Yes." His footsteps paused. Kima slowed behind him. There was a creaking sound and light began to stream through a hole in the wall. The form of Saveaux disappeared through it.

Kima was about to follow after, but something held her back. _How do we know we can trust him, Kitten?_

_…We have to trust somebeast._ Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the light and directly beneath the falling vase.

* * *

Kima awoke with a moan. Her entire skull throbbed. _What happened?_ Blinking groggily, she lifted her head from her chest and looked around, wincing at the bright light. She whimpered as her broken arm emphasized its presence.

"Hello, Miss Kima. I'm glad to see you awake."

That voice. It was completely unfamiliar. One of the servants? She tried to stand up, but restraints held her arms and legs firmly in place. "Who are you?" Her words were cracked and dry, coming out as more of a croak.

"I am a servant Master Saveaux has recruited to help him communicate with you."

Kima's ears flattened. "Savoh?" Her headache receded a little bit, and she managed to focus on the two blurs standing in front of her. "You did this?"

"…Yeees."

_I told you, Kitten._ If not for her predicament, she would have grinned.

"Saveaux has written a note and instructed me to read it." The servant coughed. There was a rustle of parchment. "Kima, I apologize for my deceit. It is not my intention to harm you, but you said you may not be able to control yourself. For the safety of everybeast, it is imperative that you learn to do so. To that end, I intend to keep you tied up until you can show me you have complete control of all your urges. I know for a fact you are not completely in your right mind. It is my intention to cure you."

Kima could hardly believe what she was hearing. Were these really the words of that harmless, little newt? "Cure me? What do you mean?" Her ears perked forwards, listening to the sound of a quill scratching.

A moment later, the servant coughed again and conveyed Saveaux's response. "You must come to terms with your bloodlust…"

"Come to terms…?"

"I will cut my arm, and you must show me you can control yourself."

"What? No, that's crazy!" Kima's eyes widened at the implications. She could feel the beast within her stirring eagerly.

"It's drastic, but under the circumstances, it is the best and safest way to help you come to terms with yourself."

"Savoh, look at me! I'm in complete control! Look, look! I can keep myself from moving if I want to." She sat still to prove her point, although she couldn't stop a slight trembling in her paws. "See? You don't have to do anything rash like that."

There was silence a moment, and then: " Your efforts are admirable, but that is not proof enough. Don't worry. Everything will turn out alright."

The smaller of the blobs padded closer. Something in its paw glittered.

"No, Savoh. Don't…please."

Saveaux stopped right in front of Kima. Raising his arm, he pressed the blade to his smooth skin. There was a moment's hesitation, and then a quiet grunt of pain. Crimson began to run.

Kima scrunched her eyes shut and shrank away. "No…" She could feel her senses quickening as the lovely aroma wafted upwards. A low growl rose out of her throat. An image of her claws tearing through Saveaux's chest urgently tried to take precedence. Writhing in the chair, she struggled to retain control, but her willpower was crumbling. Her tail began twisting and curling in anticipation.

_Kitten, give me control! I can keep her in check!_

_No…_ Kima's lips tried to curl into a snarl, but she clenched them shut. She tried to concentrate on the sensation they made when they rubbed against her teeth. _You want to kill everybeast._

_No, you're right; we don't need to anymore. But don't give me control, and we're just going to be stuck in this chair longer. Give me control!_

Kima hesitated, remembering what had happened last time. Her paws began to twitch, claws digging into the wooden armrests. That blood. So fresh. So tasty…

_No! Not again! Take control!_ It was an immense relief to allow her other self the helm.

_Excellent choice, Kitten._ Immediately, her thoughts began to clear. Saveaux's blood didn't smell quite so pungently. The cat growled and hissed in disappointment, but, at a stern command, retreated.

Kima breathed a sigh of relief and opened her eyes. If she judged correctly, Saveaux was staring at her. "Oh, hello Savoh." She sniffed dramatically. "You know, you should probably cover up that cut. You don't want to lose too much blood."

The newt didn't move. Then, without warning, he thrust his arm towards Kima's nose. The cat again stirred.

Kima simply rolled her eyes. "Really, Savoh. I'm quite all right now."

Saveaux made a humming sound and retreated back a step. Quill again scratched across parchment.

The servant cleared his throat. "I was worried for a moment. You almost lost it. But you really are alright, then?"

Kima smiled. "Of course. I told you I'm in control, didn't I? Now could you please untie me? We should go find the others. I'm pretty sure my arm is broken, and I'd really like Biara to take a look at it."

Saveaux shuffled closer, dagger in paw. Kima felt the ropes around her ankles go slack. _Just a little bit more._

_What? What do you mean?_

_I'm going to kill him._ Her right paw was freed, and she flexed it experimentally.

_Wait! No, wait! You said…_

The blade began to cut through the last rope. _You know we can't trust Savoh, Kitten. Nor any of the others, for that matter. There's no way we can work together._ The rope fell away, and she rose to her full height. "Thank you, Savoh."

_Don't you dare hurt him!_

_You'll thank me later._ Kima placed her good paw on top of Saveaux's head in an affectionate gesture. "I'm afraid I have something to confess, Savoh." She felt him look up. "I'm not the Kima you know." She grinned cheerily and extended her claws. "And this Kima wants to kill you."

There was a flash of steel. Pain seared through her right arm, and she staggered back with a howl.

Saveaux was staring at her, dagger raised in defense.

Kima peered closely at her right arm. A long gash ran nearly the entire length from her wrist to her elbow. The scent was very enticing. She glared at the newt. "You lousy, little lizard! You'll pay for that!"

_Leave him alone!_

_Shut up, Kitten. This has to be done._ Tail swishing, she leapt forward. Her eyes might not have been perfect, but they worked well enough to see the newt dive to the side. Her claws met nothing but air. She snarled at her opponent and charged again, with identical results. "Quit moving so I can catch you!"

Her third try, and Kima slammed into the full-body mirror set into the wall. It rattled and shook, but didn't break.

_Stop it!_ Things were not going in a direction she liked at all. She attempted to wrest back control of her body.

"You can't stop me, Kitten!"

_I will! I must! Even if it means stopping myself!_ With a shout, Kima smashed her good paw against the mirror. Nothing happened. She did it again and again and again. _I. Don't. Want. This._ Spidery cracks began to spread.

"What are you doing? That's seven years bad luck!" Her voice was wild and scared. She hadn't been expecting this.

"That's the idea!" Kima smashed her paw one final time against the looking glass. She felt it shatter into thousands of tiny pieces, and laughed with intense fear and delight. The immensity of what she had just done crashed down on her. She began to tremble.

"Tha-that doesn't change anything!" She whirled around to face Saveaux, his dagger still held up defensively. Her lips curled back in a malicious grin. "I don't need good luck to kill a newt." Time seemed to slow down as she pounced and grabbed Saveaux's dagger paw. She began to push it out of the way.

_No! I told you…_"I won't let you!" Kima locked her arm. The dagger remained where it was. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as the blade pierced the middle of her chest. All her previous injuries suddenly seemed very tiny and insignificant.

_Are you insane…Kitten?_ She could feel herself beginning to disappear. In desperation, in panic, she attempted to grab onto something – attempted to maintain dominance.

_No. You're the insane one. I don't need you anymore._ With shaking paw, Kima pushed the dagger deeper into her chest. It felt like she was stabbing lightning into herself.

The cat threw back its head and shrieked in agony. Image after image of her tearing apart Saveaux charged through her head.

_Not this time. Never again…_ Kima felt herself falling, and then she was on the floor staring into the blurry, concerned eyes of Saveaux.

"Kiiima…Nooo."

Kima tried to smile. Her cheeks were wet. "Don't cry, Savoh. Don't…" Her vision was even more blurred than usual, and she realized that she was the one crying. "Oh, it's me." She couldn't help herself; she laughed. The laugh turned into a cough, and she weakly spat out blood.

A thought occurred to her, and she shuddered, grabbing at the hem of Saveaux's cloak. "Don't let them – don't let Falliss eat me…" Her voice came out in a hiss. "Don't let him…" Her grip weakened, and her paw dropped. "Savoh…" The pain in her body was fading away; all that remained was numbness – a sensation of floating. "…don't worry…" She closed her eyes.

"…Everything's…under control..."

end of round six.


	75. Micro Cuts

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of round seven.

**Chapter 73. Micro Cuts****  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

His chest was red; his cloak was steadily darkening. He knew that he had to get up, but stayed there, pinned under her while her warmth flowed out. The newt gave a call but knew the servant had left when there was no answer. Gurgling, he managed to push the body off of himself just enough to wriggle out from under her.

_"You know where the others are?"_

_"…Yesss"_

_He had turned, walked into the room. Everything was in place._

_'Should I really do this now?'_

_The voice was quelled; 'There is no time. Would that I could, this would be executed differently, but it must be done, if we are to all of us escape.'_

Saveaux lay on his back. He felt something in his right hand and moved it, knowing what it was as it came into view. The dagger…

_…pressed against his arm. For a moment he hesitated, then, pain, ruby flowing from the limb. He could feel it sticking uncomfortably to his flesh as it coursed down. Saveaux took a step closer._

The newt sat up. Through bleary eyes, he surveyed the prone form of Kima – she was still.

_She thrashed against her bonds. Had Saveaux been able to mumble, he would have chanted, "Come on, Kima, concentrate, you can do this, you're strong enough," under his breath, but as it was, he repeated it inside his head, over and over again to the beat of a drum. He heard himself gurgle involuntarily. _

Noise to his right. The newt stood up, brandished his dagger. Standing opposite him, padding across the floor gingerly over the broken glass, were three servants.

One of them spoke, "Mister Saveaux, please, we are not armed. We were not sent to attack you; we mean you no harm."

_"I told you I'm in control, didn't I? Now could you please untie me? We should go find the others. I'm pretty sure my arm is broken, and I'd really like Biara to take a look at it."_

"Waaa…aaat…wa-an-T?"

The speaking servant stopped two yards shy of Saveaux, visibly aware of the dagger still pointed in his direction.

"Sterilization. We are here for the body."

_He breathed a sigh of relief, chill air filling his lungs. Kima had appeared on the point of fracture, yet had restrained herself in an instant. A part of Saveaux still doubted, but she proved herself, resisting his blood at point blank range. He felt her paw on his head and smiled. The part of Saveaux that was unsure, though, caused the smile to vanish when it noticed something eerie; Kima's smile was much too wide.._

_"I'm not the Kima you know. And this Kima wants to kill you."_

_His grip tightened on the handle. Saveaux-_

Slashed with the dagger, causing the servant to jump back. He jabbed the point towards the lead servant and his two underlings, his focus shifting restlessly from one to the next. Saveaux noticed his legs were quaking uncontrollably.

"Calm yourself." the servant did not raise his voice. This served only to further unsettle the newt. "We are here for your protection. Don't you see?"

_'Why did I not see?' thought the newt as Kima thrust herself against the mirror, two voices emanating from her throat. 'A split personality; how was I so blind as not to account for that? This was all wrong, this should have been done differently, I should have-'_

_Kima leaped and was on top of him. Saveaux felt pressure on the paw clasping the dagger and struggled against it, weak newt arms against the strong limbs of a cat; meal against predator._

_Tension in his arms dissipated for a moment and then altogether. Saveaux tried to look down but found his gaze pinned to Kima's face, tears streaming warm out of her eyes._

_"Don't cry, Saveaux."_

_Her eyes; their pupils were so small._

_"Oh, it's me."_

_Her laugh was hideous, and chilling and tragic. He felt the blood from her mouth, thick, arterial red, hit his cheek._

_"Don't let them-"_

"Mister Saveaux?"

He had kept his view locked on the servant. That meant that he'd left the other two unmonitored. Realizing his mistake, he wheeled around to see the other two servants standing at either end of Kima, proceeding to lift her up. The newt ran, slashing blindly. All of the servants scattered. The almost imperceptible sound of blood dripping against stone told Saveaux that he'd scored a hit, but he could not tell from whom.

"O-o-out!"

"Mister Saveaux…" The servant swallowed. "You do realize that this means we shall have to involve Jeremy."

In that moment, though blaze and storm raged inside of him, Saveaux's face betrayed naught.

"B-r-iiiiiing…Jerrrr…meeee…he-ee-eeeere."

The room was unlit save the dwindling torches at the end opposite the tunnel.

"Check for traps," said the squirrel to his two underlings.

Their cautious steps could be heard throughout the room, stopping every once in a while to kneel and prod at the ground or a cabinet or some other suspicious item to make sure there was no pressure trigger. They gave the all clear; Jeremy stepped over the threshold.

He glanced about the room. Aside from furniture and a sizable blood stain, it was blank. He circled around the room, double-checking all of the closed cabinets, probing behind any shelves or display cases behind which someone could hide. The room was vacant.

"He's left the room and taken the body with him. No doubt he captured the servant who did not return in order to help him transport it."

Jeremy crossed back over to the broken mirror, back into the tunnel. His eyebrows furrowed; all of the torches back the way they had come were now extinguished. The squirrel shrugged; most of them had been close to burning out anyway.

Reaching for the last lit torch in the tunnel, he continued, "We shall confer with the watchers and see if they have witnessed anything."

Jeremy removed the torch. Had he remained on high alert, he would have noticed the thin wire tied at the bottom of the torch, leading all the way up to the ceiling. The torch was pulled and the wire triggered, causing the rig to carry out its designed function; a tattered cloak fluttered and fell, spilling a few more than a dozen quite large, quite sharp mirror shards onto Jeremy's tender, unprotected flesh.

From his hiding place, Saveaux heard screams. He gave a grim smile. Securing his cloak to the tunnel supports had been no easy task; neither was extinguishing the tunnel's other torches without being caught while Jeremy and his henchbeasts scoured the room. Labor aside, it had cost him his cloak as well, but the sounds of agony from his tormentor made it all worthwhile. The newt realized his reaction and shuddered. He then kept still.

The newt continued to sit, immobile least they hear him. His eyes wandered to a prone Kima, barely visible in the dark.

_'What is it like being dead?' he asked himself as he wandered the tunnels._

_He answered, 'Simpler.'_

_Saveaux had spent much time wandering the tunnels, surveying the remaining guests. He watched as Biara heard news of his death, as the supposedly dead Desmond browsed the healer's wares, as Quincy ascended the castle and descended in resolve; he noted that all of this persisted without him, that though for all intents and purposes he was expired, the world continued to move. Such a simple concept to be told when someone close dies, that the world moves on, but one so utterly incomprehensible to any but those who actually die. He felt small and this made him re-evaluate his actions._

_'Perhaps I was wrong to behave as I have,' thought Saveaux. 'Too often have I fallen victim to my more base emotions. I know that justice is indeed due where there are wrongs, but perhaps it is not as linear a matter as them that kill should be treated in kind. Perhaps there is more, other ways. Henceforth, I seek to choose the other path. May I never again be overcome by negative emotion.'_

Saveaux cried. Hours must have passed before he was allowed a reprieve and he soon dove back in, a deluge from his eyes, his throat clogged with shuddering gasps. Who had known Kima before she came to this damned castle? She had left them and they would never know what had happened to her. He had killed her; she was dead and they would never know. He had no one who knew him on the outside, nobeast to care if he had passed, clearly, as they had all gotten on without him when told he was dead.

Saveaux struck himself across the face. Survivor's guilt was fruitless. If he wanted to help Kima, he would survive for her and do what she asked; protect her body. The newt swallowed a sob as he remembered what she had told him.

_"Don't let Falliss eat me."_

That was where all of the bodies had gone. Saveaux's jaws tightened; that was where Nallmian had gone. He stood on rage and fear weakened legs. If he was to begin his plans of escape, he first had to take stock of the room in which he had decided to hide. All sounds had left from the tunnels long before he had begun crying, so now was the time.

Saveaux had not much examined the room, which itself had actually been selected at random. When the three servants who had arrived to retrieve the latest result of the professor's experiment retreated back into the tunnel, Saveaux apprehended the last, threatening him at blade point to move Kima's body where he specified. They ventured down the tunnels for a good distance, Saveaux making sure that they doubled back several times and left a few doors open along the way in order to throw off any who would attempt to follow them. Again, he passed unhindered, which caused the newt to wonder if the watchers behind the walls were understaffed.

Eventually, they came to a secluded viewing room. Saveaux bid the servant enter and drop the body. This done, he told the servant to go to the door, shut it and bolt it; he clubbed the servant over the head with the dagger hilt while his back was turned, taking care to bind and gag him with spare bits from his cloak so he would not wake, escape and tell the others where he had hidden Kima. The servant was still trussed up to Saveaux's immediate right.

Apart from a cursory glance when he'd chosen the room, however, Saveaux knew nothing about it. It was dark, and therefore a good hiding place, but the entire half of the room opposite the door was left uninvestigated. The newt procured a bit of flint from the bound servant's tunic and crossed the room to light the torches, using his dagger to make the flint spark.

The first torch ignited quickly. Saveaux wished they had not. Immediately illuminated, in the center of the room, was a stone slab. Ominous enough on its own, the slab bore an occupant on its surface, clearly deceased, as evidenced by the long, precise cut down her sternum, both hemispheres of the chest spread to either side, the internal organs visible, even more grisly in the minute torch light.

The newt fell to his knees, faced the floor, heaved. When it produced nothing, he felt he could risk a glance back at the slab. This time he recognized the body.

It was Rhea.

Saveaux rose, gingerly crossing back over to the door. The worst part, however, was not the discovery of this body, was not that he recognized who it was or rather who it used to be; Saveaux recognized who must have done it. The cut bisecting Rhea's body could have only been made with a scalpel and there was only one beast in the castle who could wield such a blade with the exact proficiency needed.

A quaking hand touched a wrinkled brow. Clearly, her sickness was far more progressed than he had thought, which meant that he would not be able to wait until they had escaped the castle to cure her. Saveaux knew what he was to do. The problem was, he thought, staring at his dagger, he didn't know if he would be able to do it.


	76. Thank You For the Venom

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 74. Thank You For the Venom****  
**

_by Biara  
_

Biara had to wonder what, exactly, Tombstone was up to.

After a bit of seemingly aimless wandering on the first floor, the great beast had lumbered up to what looked, for all the world, like a storage closet. As he pawed open the door and glanced inside, Biara wondered vaguely what the badger was hoping to find in there. Eventually he gave up and withdrew from the room, but lingered nearby.

Curious as to what could have led the badger to the closet in the first place, Biara crept toward the open door and peeked inside. It was a thoroughly unsuitable hiding place unless one happened to be a towel, and the marteness was about to turn back and disregard the room completely when she noticed another door at the back of the room. She blinked; it wasn't fully closed.

Creeping forward on the tips of her footpaws, the pine marten pushed ever so slightly on the door and slipped inside. The smell of linens swept over her, and she stifled a sneeze as she looked over the robes and other clothing that lined the tiny room. However, there was just a hint of a more familiar scent peeking through, and when Biara closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, she smiled; blood. Very faint, and she couldn't tell who's blood it was, but it was there _somewhere_. And she was going to find the source.

Biara sifted through a rack of various tunics, ears flicked forward to detect any sounds in the silence. Then she worked on the shelves, starting from the top down. However, her attention started to fade around the end of the middle shelf, and the marten began to wonder why she was wasting her time searching a closet.

_Still, I might as well finish here._ Adamantly, the marteness tugged one of the blankets covering the contents of the bottom shelf away and carelessly thrust aside one of the towels behind it.

Biara's reaction to what she saw behind the towels was immediate. Her tail bottlebrushed to nearly twice its usual size and the marten snatched her knife and stabbed the offending apparition. Desmond, who was equally surprised and not at all keen at being stabbed, screamed.

And then there was a crash and Biara whipped around to find herself looking up at the great striped face of Tombstone.

Panic galvanized the marteness to action. A shocked scream ripped from her throat, and she began stabbing frantically at the badger, plunging her knife into the great beast's leg again and again. It grunted in pain, and swatted at Biara with a huge paw that knocked the air out of her and sent her soaring. The pine marten's landing was softened by a pile of towels in the corner of the room, but all the fight had been knocked out of her and she sucked in ragged breaths as the great beast approached Desmond.

The squirrel was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Biara wondered vaguely if she'd killed him. Tombstone was clearly wondering the same thing. Leaning down over his quarry, the badger turned the squirrel over onto his back and sniffed at him. Looking somewhat confused, but apparently satisfied, the badger shuffled backwards and out the door. Biara smirked; Tombstone was walking with a very slight limp. _What he deserves, jumping a beast like that._

When the marten had gotten her breath back, she levered herself to her footpaws and padded cautiously towards the fallen squirrel. Biara knelt down beside Desmond, placing two claws against the side of his neck. She twitched her whiskers at the steady pulse. _Well, doesn't that just take the biscuit._

Biara imagined that she should have been rather cross. After all, had she stabbed just a little to the left, she would have pierced a lung, and Desmond would have choked on his own blood. But, as it was, she just couldn't manage to get upset. The healer figured that if the squirrel had been able to escape death twice, he deserved to live at least a little longer.

Besides, it was about time she had a new patient.

The pine marten appraised Desmond's still form with a critical eye. She pawed at the stab wound and frowned when she realized that it was disappointingly superficial. _That won't do at all. Probably won't even need stitching._ Soon after, however, a slow smile crept back over Biara's face.

Humming cheerfully, the pine marten rummaged through her bag until she found her needle, and emptied just a little of its contents into Desmond's bloodstream. Placing the instrument gently aside, the marteness retrieved her scalpel, pawing at the blade fondly as she looked her new patient over.

Biara's paw flicked lightly as she expertly guided the delicate blade, and soon Desmond had a rather impressive array of new wounds. She had widened and deepened the initial puncture to the chest, and artfully added a few lacerations to his sides, back, and face. Digging the blade a little more forcefully into the squirrel's right shoulder, the marteness ripped a deep and jagged path along the length of his arm, heart thrumming as the blood soaked her paw. _Lovely._

The pine marten healer checked Desmond's pulse once more before standing up and wiping her bloodied paws on her cloak, a satisfied grin crossing her face. She stowed the scalpel blade in her pocket and closed her medicine pouch, slinging it over one shoulder. Making sure not to irritate any of Desmond's fresh injuries, the pine marten rolled him onto his stomach, grabbed his paws, and dragged him out of the linen closet and into the hall.

An apron-clad mouse on the way to cleaning up one of the first floor guestrooms froze in place, staring at the pine marten dragging the squirrel along the hallway towards the stairs. "Is there anything I can help you with, Miss?"

"Oh! I was just about to fetch one of you," Biara said, cheerfully. "As a matter of fact, there is. Is there any matter of garbage heap on the premises?"

The mousemaid gulped, but nodded. "Yes, Miss Biara. In the basement, near the storage room."

"Splendid! I need to make sure my patient is properly cared for, you see." The marteness practically beamed at the servant. "Much thanks!" And with that, she continued dragging Desmond toward the staircase to her room.

--

_Poisons, venoms, and toxins surround us; Vulpuz has not been unkind in his gifts. Yet, the use of these gifts, and their proper preparation, must be handled with care. Anybeast can take some water and wolfbane and boil themselves some tea, but then they must convince some poor fool to drink it. That being said, there are a great many beasts I've dealt with in the past who've been fooled so easily that I suppose they deserve to be poisoned. Still, the best kinds of poisons are those that don't require the victim to be oblivious, such as..._

Biara's tail brushed her shins as she turned the page. The venerable healer, Alastor, had been quite the expert on alchemy, it seemed. Biara scratched at the bridge of her snout, almost wishing that she had spoken with him more on the subject. Still, she supposed his books had been just as illuminating, and hardly as irritating, as the beast himself, and so therefore were worth far more.

The marteness took a sip from the teacup resting on the table beside the chair she was seated on right as Desmond stirred from his position, propped up on her bed. "Hellgates, what's…" the squirrel trailed off. Biara twitched an ear, eagerly awaiting his reaction. She had always wanted to try a specific method of healing, but never had a chance to until now.

There was a scream. Biara smiled; _There it is!_

Looking up almost lazily from her book, Biara gazed interestedly at Desmond. The squirrel, in turn, was staring at the jagged gash on his arm, or rather, the maggots writhing about in the wound, horror stamped on his features. Shrieking like a madbeast, the squirrel attempted to shovel the insects away.

"You're only going to aggravate your wounds if you struggle like that," she said.

"What have you done to me?!"

"They're rather helpful, actually," the marteness said, matter-of-factly. "Cleans out any infections in the wound and primes it for healing." She smiled, craning her neck to get a better look. "Little beasties are doing their job wonderfully!"

"Go to Hellgates!" The squirrel snapped. "I don't have to deal with this."

Biara rolled her eyes. _Must all patients carry on about every little procedure? It's discordant._

Desmond was about to continue pushing out the maggots when he was stopped by Biara. The healer pushed him back none too gently. "Listen to me—" Desmond lashed out, punching the healer squarely in the eye. Stars exploded in her vision, and she staggered backwards with a hiss.

Grabbing her needle from the bedside table, Biara pushed Desmond back once more, thrusting the tip of the instrument in front of the squirrel's face. "I'm trying to help you," she snarled. "If you don't cooperate, I'll be forced to do something I don't want to do."

The truth was, she rather wanted to inject Desmond at that moment. However, the squirrel decided, rather smartly, to not strike out again. His eyes flashed from the needle tip to his arm. Biara continued speaking. "I'm going to let you go now, and you're going to relax and pay no attention to your arm. Okay?"

Desmond nodded silently. "Good!" Biara stepped back, setting the needle down gently on the table.

The squirrel took a deep breath before speaking again. "What happened?" He gingerly touched the aggravated stab wound in his chest, and winced. "You stabbed me, and then Tombstone appeared and you attacked him and then… that's all I remember." He lowered his gaze for a moment. "I thought I was a deadbeast."

"I thought you were, too." Biara said, matter-of-factly, seated once again on the chair opposite her bed. "But Tombstone didn't kill you, for some reason." The marteness realized that she had no idea why the badger hadn't killed him.

"Maybe he was confused," Desmond said, and Biara blinked once in understanding. It did make sense, after all it was a rather small room, and the amount of blood might have made it seem like Desmond wasn't the right squirrel after all.

Desmond sighed. "That means he's still going to be after me, doesn't it?"

"I'm afraid so. And I'm also afraid you're in no ways fit to fight a badger," Biara reported. "Hopefully the maggots will have done their work in an hour or so and then at least I can start working on your arm. The badger ripped you up pretty badly, but it looks like you'll only need a pawful of stitches and lots of rest."

The squirrel slumped back against the pillows. "Thank you," he murmured.

Biara twitched her whiskers in amusement. Thinking about it, if she hadn't stabbed Desmond, he would have surely died.

"Of course," she said with a smile. "How do you feel?"

The squirrel gave her a dirty look. "Miss Sable," he ground out, "Have you ever woken up to find that you've been ripped to shreds by an insane badger and, I don't know, your arm is being eaten by disgusting little insects? And your head feels like there's one kit sitting on it and hitting it with a mallet, and two more screaming in your ears? Yes, well, unless you've ever felt like that, then don't bloody ask me how I feel."

Biara dipped her head, ears flicked back just a little. "My apologies. If you'd like, I can give you some tea with a little painkiller." Desmond favored the medic with a rather suspicious glance, and she grinned. "I promise I won't drug you this time." After a moment's hesitation, the squirrel nodded and Biara set to work.

The two beasts didn't speak much while Biara prepared Desmond's tea, and the healer suspected it was mostly due to the fact that just about two hours earlier, they had been deadbeasts to each other.

Glancing over her shoulder at Desmond, Biara had to admit that the squirrel had gotten over the shock of his treatment much more quickly than she'd imagined. He really wasn't like most woodlanders. She added some an extra bit of feverfew and lavender to the mixture in retrospect. Once it was finished, she bustled over to her patient. "Here you go!"

Desmond favored the cup in his paws with suspicion, but eventually took a tentative sip of the hot liquid. "…This is quite good," he said, somewhat surprised.

Biara grinned, looking rather proud of herself. "I added a little honey and sugar to it, to offset the bitterness of the herbs." The male nodded and eagerly drank a little more. The marten's ears perked. "Actually, I need to go get something. You just wait here." The squirrel glared at her. "Sorry. Try to get some rest, and I'll be back to check on you in just a little bit."

The pine marten healer strode briskly out of her room, closing the door behind her. Once outside, her gaze hardened. Some of her herbs had been stolen, and she suspected the culprit was either one of the servants or Kima. She had had quite enough of beasts damaging her property, and was going to end it promptly.

But first, she had spied some greengage cordial in the cellars…


	77. Keep Talking

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 75. Keep Talking****  
**

_by Desmond  
_

Desmond drank half of his tea before he slipped off, dozing fitfully for about an hour; not only did everything hurt, it also itched abominably, and he couldn't shake off the horror of having little wriggly white worms crawling about inside his arm. He knew it was only his imagination, but they seemed to grow every time he dared to look at them. He almost fancied he could _hear_ them, and that each had its own voice; they were chatting amongst themselves, remarking contentedly on the sumptuous fare.

_"Quite delicious, is squirrel. Much better than the rubbish heap! I don't know when I've been so full."_

"I concur. Lovely of Miss Sable to bring us here. Do you suppose she'll let us eat the whole thing?"

"I do hope so, old chap. Here, let me have a bit of that tendon, it looks like it's decayed nicely."

"Help yourself! There's plenty for all. After we've finished the arm, perhaps we'll move on to the chest. I've always wanted to try a heart!"

"Mm, yes, sounds delightful. I'm keen on tasting the lungs, myself…"

Desmond, unable to move, could only watch in mute fear as they nibbled his arm down to the bone, growing larger with every bite.

"I hope you don't mind," one intoned to him politely as it started on his shoulder. "You won't feel a thing."

Desmond started awake, a silent scream tearing at his throat. Dry mouthed, he peeked down at his arm and shuddered; the limb was reassuringly whole, but the dratted insects were still squiggling about. He considered removing them himself, but then Biara would just put them back and restrain him, and the thought of touching the disgusting things at all was just too much. The squirrel shuddered and made a face. The latter action turned out to be rather painful, much to his dismay.

"Bloody 'gates!" he yelped, exploring his face with his good paw. "Not the _face_."

One painful cut went across his left cheek and another ran along his jawbone on the right side. After a moment of cautious probing, he dropped his paw back to his side with a sigh of resignation. There was no knowing how bad the damage was without a mirror, and getting up to find one was rather out of the question; for the meantime, he'd simply have to assume that his face was ruined and hope that the scars were more dashing than disfiguring. Though, he fumed, with the way his luck had been running lately, the latter would more than likely turn out to be the case.

Having nothing else to do, he finished the tea Biara had given him, though it had cooled off and wasn't nearly as good. The herbs she'd used seemed to have narcotic properties, and Desmond found himself growing drowsy again.

_"Don't panic," the maggots told him cheerfully. "We'll keep a lookout for Tombstone while you're asleep."_

*

He was trapped. Leather straps crossed his torso and legs and his paws were chained to sides of the bed. Desmond looked at his right arm and choked, nauseated; the maggots were gone, but the flesh had rotted away, and the stench was terrible.

Biara stood over him and frowned, shaking her syringe at him. "You took them out, didn't you," she scolded. "After I told you not to! You know what this means, don't you?"

Desmond gulped, cringing away from the marten. "I didn't do it," he tried to say, but he couldn't form the words, and all that came out was a strangled cry.

Biara sighed. "Don't be silly, Desmond, we both know there was no one else in the room. And now look what you've done, your arm is an absolute mess! I'll have to amputate it at once. I'll put you out shortly." Methodically, she took his left paw and inserted the needle of the syringe under his skin.

"No," Desmond gasped. "I don't want to be asleep – there's nightmares. Stop!" He whimpered as she depressed the plunger, shuddered as she withdrew the needle. "I don't want – sleep…" he sobbed miserably.

Biara patted his good shoulder. "But Desmond," she tittered, "You're so cute when you're sleeping!"

The squirrel's eyes snapped open and he twitched, unsure of whether he was awake or still dreaming – or if he'd been awake before, and now he was asleep. But no, he had to be awake; his arm wasn't gangrenous, and the maggots were still there. He _was_ strapped down to the bed, though Biara was nowhere in sight. There was somebeast else there, though, watching him…

"Helena?" he croaked in surprise.

"Took you long enough to wake up," she said with a frown. "I was afraid I'd have to come back another time."

"That's all very well," Desmond snapped, irritated, "But why am I tied down?"

"Oh, that?" She waved a paw dismissively. "Merely a safeguard. If you cooperate, we shan't need them at all."

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "Cooperate," he said icily, "With what?"

"Oh," she smiled innocently, "I just have a few questions to ask you. See, I'm dying to know who you are."

Desmond stared at her in disbelief. "This is ridiculous. You have no reason to even care who I am, and I certainly am not going to tell you."

She giggled. "You're funny when you're angry." The smile disappeared from her face and she moved to his right side. "Suffice to say, I have my reasons to want to know more about you. Professor Falliss knows more than he'll tell me." A look of frustration crossed her face, but she hid it quickly. "We'll start with an easy one. What did the professor promise you when he sent you an invitation?"

Desmond sighed. "You," he ground out. "He said he would introduce me to his 'Charming young niece.' Now that I've met you, I can't say I agree with his choice of adjectives."

She smiled, amused. "I suppose you haven't seen me at my best," she admitted. "Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that." The female tapped a claw against the coverlet thoughtfully. "Is that all he referred to me as? His niece?"

"Yes. You know, I'm sure Falliss would be more than happy to answer these questions for you," Desmond growled.

"Yes, but he's not as handsome." She smirked. "The scars aren't bad, you know – they give you a roguish look."

Desmond glared at her. "Finish up and get out," he snarled.

She sighed. "Fine. We shan't beat around the bush any longer; here it is. I have reason to believe that you… were familiar with my mother."

Desmond snorted. "Well, I won't deny that it's possible. I'm familiar with a lot of beasts."

Helena frowned slightly. "Yes, but… Well, to put it simply, I've gathered that you were rather close friends for some time – and then there was some sort of falling out. You went your separate ways, and that was that – except, not long afterward, she died under mysterious circumstances." Helena arched one eyebrow. "And I think you know how she died."

"Wait," Desmond tried to hold up his paws in defense but was stopped by the bonds. "Lovely story, but aside from putting your wild imagination to use, where in 'gates did you come up with any of that?"

"The professor has notes on all of the guests, and he's gotten a little careless with them. I managed to read a few of yours while I was cleaning his desk. Unfortunately, what I found brought up more questions than it answered," she frowned at him. "Even so, I trust his research more than your lies." She paused. "Her name was Lisa."

Desmond shrugged. "Fascinating, but I'm afraid I've never met her."

The female's eyes narrowed. "You killed her, didn't you," she hissed.

Desmond closed his eyes. "I said," he repeated boredly, "I've never met her. Sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to ask elsewhere. Shut the door on your way out, please."

Helena stared at him for a long moment and then wordlessly raked her claws through the open wound on his arm. Desmond screamed and tried to lash out at her, but the straps prevented him.

"Tell the truth," she said coolly. "I'm not leaving until I get an answer." She gave him a calculating look. "It wouldn't be the first time you'd killed a female acquaintance, would it."

Desmond breathed through clenched teeth, fighting to ignore the searing pain in his freshly bleeding arm. "It has nothing to do with you," he grated. "Why should you even care?"

"I'm asking the questions," she snapped. "Tell me how she died."

"No."

"It's a simple enough question," she tried to reason with him. "I mean, either you had something to do with it, or you didn't. I already know you've done horrible things, so either way, you have very little chance of shocking me." Her voice wavered slightly, and if Desmond hadn't been almost entirely focused on the pain in his arm, he would have wondered if she was lying.

"Go to 'gates," Desmond growled.

Helena studied his face for a moment and then reached for his arm again. Desmond bit his lip to keep from crying out, but she only scraped at the wound for a moment. The male let his breath out in relief – but was totally unprepared when she shoved a pawful of bloody maggots into his mouth.

Desmond gagged, fighting to sit up and spit out the gruesome mouthful and getting blood, saliva, and worms all over himself in the process. Helena watched him apathetically until he had finished.

"There's plenty more where that came from," she pointed out. "And it's going to continue until you talk."

Desmond gulped, still trying to rid his mouth of the taste of blood and the sensation of moving things inside. "I don't know how she died," he choked out.

Helena reached for his arm again, and he shook his head.

"I wasn't there," he explained desperately. "She – I only got a letter, and it said she had fallen. I don't know what happened. She fell from a window, it said. She could have jumped, I suppose. I don't know." His eyes moved back and forth from his arm to her face. "Will you please go now?"

"Actually," came Biara's voice from the doorway, making both of the squirrel's jump, "I think we have a few things to discuss before Helena leaves." The marten's eyes widened when she saw the mess that was Desmond's arm and she hurried over to examine it more closely. "What did you do?" she demanded.

"He was being uncooperative," Helena said sulkily.

"Never mind that," Biara returned, irritation in her voice. "What did you do?"

"She scraped her claws through it," Desmond snapped. "Why yes, it does hurt, thank you for asking. I don't suppose you'd care to do something about that, would you? Also, I would like to be untied. And please get her out of here, she's caused enough trouble."

"Hush," Biara snapped, and turned to Helena. "Thought you could come back and steal more of my herbs, did you?" There was a note of triumph in her tone at having caught the 'thief.' "Sloppy work, really. By the by, I'll be wanting them back."

Helena sniffed primly. "I've never touched your precious herbs," she shot back. "I don't even know where you keep them, nor do I care."

Desmond blinked and decided it would be prudent _not_ to mention, at the present, that the hemlock was – or had been – under his mattress, and the willow bark was still in his pocket.

"You honestly think I'd believe that?" Biara retorted. "We've seen that you're an accomplished liar by now." She paused and straightened before going on coolly. "Now, I'd be most appreciative if you left. And kindly do leave my patients alone in the future." The marten's tone was light, but the threat snarling underneath the surface was completely clear.

"I just needed to talk to him," Helena muttered, voice hardly audible.

"Oh?" Biara gestured to Desmond's arm. "Ruining my work was just part of talking to him, was it?" She rubbed her nose in frustration. "Untie him and get out," she ordered. "And don't come back."

Silently, Helena did as she'd been told and then fled the room.

"Well," said Biara, turning to assess Desmond. "Cleaning that out is going to be rather painful. Would you like some more tea first?"

"Er. No," said Desmond quickly. He shrugged when Biara sent him a questioning gaze. "It's just – that is, it gives me… unpleasant dreams." He didn't bother elaborating.

"Oh, really? That's interesting." Biara eyed his empty teacup for a moment and then shook her head, returning to the task at hand. "I'll get started, then." She poured clean water from a pitcher into a paw washing basin and dipped a clean rag in it before scrubbing at his arm.

Desmond winced but didn't cry out, to his credit. "You're not going to put them back in, are you?" he ventured hopefully. "I think I've had quite enough of them."

"Nonsense. They're doing splendidly – or were, anyway, before that little sneak interfered," she added darkly.

There was a short silence. Desmond swallowed. It was insane, but he had the strangest urge to thank Biara again. Dismissing it as a feverish whim, he cleared his throat. "What's been happening with the other guests?" he queried. "And have you seen Tombstone again?"

She shook her head. "Tombstone's been keeping out of sight. As for the others – last I knew, Quincy was off with a group of servants to deal with Falliss-"

Desmond raised his eyebrows. "Really? A group of servants? I didn't think they'd turn on him."

Biara shrugged. "These were – special servants. They'd been imprisoned in a hidden room in the basement for quite some time, apparently. In any case, they seemed to be eager enough to do away with him." She was quiet for a moment as she finished cleaning the wound. "Saveaux's dead."

Desmond blinked. "Oh. That's…"

_One more beast out of the way._

"…Good."

*

Biara was just finishing her work when there was a knock on the door. "Who is it?" she called.

"Jolice," came the muffled reply. "I'm here for Quincy."

Desmond and Biara exchanged glances. "Sounds like the attempt on Falliss didn't go successfully," Desmond remarked with a sigh. Biara nodded in concurrence and went to open the door.

A haremaid stood just outside, a worried look on her face. "Will you come? He's been hurt – he needs somebeast to patch him up, and there's no one else."

"Certainly," Biara agreed. "Just give me a moment to make sure I have the things I need and I'll be with you." She strode back to the bedside to retrieve her bag and sorted through the contents until she was satisfied that the necessary supplies were there.

"I should be back shortly to check on you," she informed Desmond. "Try to keep still."

"Mm? Oh, yes," he replied absently. He wondered if Biara was planning to kill Quincy; if the hare was injured badly enough, then it would certainly be a simple matter to do away with him and use his already weakened condition as an excuse…

But then he and Biara would be the only ones left. And Desmond knew, without a doubt, that if pressed, Biara would choose her life over his without a second thought. The squirrel watched the marten leave and close the door quietly behind her, and hoped that she wouldn't kill the hare – if only so that there would still be one beast left between him and death.


	78. Long Division

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 76. Long Division****  
**

_by Quincy  
_

_...that they were further away from a solution that would play._

-------

Biara slid into Quincy's room. "You asked for me?"

Quincy, who was sitting at his desk, turned his head. The pine marten's eyebrows raised when she saw the hare was holding a bloody rag to his left ear.

"My my, you certainly took a spill. What happened?"

"Falliss," Quincy said. "He's got traps set up outside his room. One nearly killed one of the servants, but I knocked him out of the way and got this in the process."

He winced as Biara took the rag from him and ran her claws tenderly along his throbbing ear. "Traps, you say?"

"Yes. There's no getting to his room now. Ahh!"

"Clever old bird," Biara crowed, moving Quincy's ear this way and that. "Well, this looks fairly straightforward. You're lucky it's a clean cut, or I may have had to go with a much more...unpleasant treatment."

Quincy tried to ignore the frequent lances of pain as Biara began to clean his wound. The marten worked skillfully and efficiently, applying some sort of poultice to his ear before bandaging it. Whatever it was, it felt cooling and soothed his red-hot wound. The one downside was that the bandage was too heavy for him to hold his ear upright for long, so in the end he gave up and let his ear just droop.

"That looks loads better," said Biara bemusedly. "You know, I'm somewhat surprised you asked for me and not one of the servants."

"Really?" Quincy asked. "You're the only healer here that I know by name."

"Well, yes, but you're a woodlander. Most woodlanders tend to think I might...do something to them." Quincy noticed quite a lot of fang in her smile.

"Oh, I know you wouldn't, Miss Biara," he said, waving a dismissive paw. "You've been so helpful to Saveaux, after all, and you've done a fantastic job on my ear."

The marten looked rather taken aback. "Well, thank you. I don't think I've ever heard a woodlander patient of mine put the words 'fantastic' and 'job' together before. Unless they were mocking me, of course."

"I've got no reason to mock you," said the hare as Biara began to scrub at the blood caked into his ear fur.

Biara said nothing, though a faint smile played about her lips. There was a knock at the door and Jolice entered.

"Quincy, are you ready? Hector wanted to start that meeting now."

"Meeting?" Biara asked. "What meeting?"

"I've decided to call a meeting for the remaining guests and the escapees of the breeding room. It's time we all figured out a way to bring Falliss down. Together," Quincy added. "No more breaking off into groups."

He didn't care to admit it to Biara, but it hadn't been a good idea. It seemed like the thing to do at the time, but it had only broken them off into factions, when they should have been concentrating on uniting. Perhaps more lives might have been spared if he'd been able to keep a better eye on Nallmian, Desmond, and Kima.

"So where's a good venue for it?" he asked. "We'll need some place a bit smaller than the dining hall, because Hector is worried about spies in the hidden passages and he'd like some place where it will be a bit easier for us to monitor that sort of thing."

"How about my room?" Biara offered.

"That could work," said Jolice. "Might be easier, since Desmond is already there."

Biara's eyes widened, but she quickly composed herself and huffed in annoyance, "Yes. Why don't you go and gather everyone then?"

The haremaid raised an eyebrow at the marten's curious behavior. "Right. I'll do that."

She exited, and Quincy glared daggers at Biara. "Desmond? _Desmond_?"

Biara smiled, though the hare could see it was rather forced. "Yes, Desmond. He's that snobby squirrel that nobody really likes, remember?"

"But...but..." Quincy struggled to find words in his apoplexy. "You told me he was dead!"

Biara shrugged. "Yes, well, he got better."

"He won't be for long!" Quincy jumped up from his chair and started for the door, but Biara darted in front of him and blocked his path. Quincy was suddenly very aware of how tall she was.

"I cannot allow you to harm one of my patients," she said firmly.

"Get out of my way, Biara," Quincy growled. "Desmond murdered Rhea...and you lied to me!"

Biara stood fast. "I didn't lie. Desmond was on death's doorstep when I found him and I didn't want to get your hopes up by telling you he'd be all right, because I honestly believed he wasn't going to make it."

Quincy could feel hot tears at the corners of his eyes but he ignored them. "But Desmond killed Lady Rhea! I..."

"Wish he really _was_ dead?" Biara snorted. "That's a surprise coming from you, Quincy, though I don't think many tears would have been shed at his passing."

"Well, he can just forget about the meeting then. I don't think I can even look at him."

"If Desmond doesn't go, I don't." Biara folded her paws across her chest. "You said you wanted us to be together at the meeting, did you not? Or are you going to do the typical high-and-mighty woodlander thing and start excluding whomever you feel like?"

"I'm excluding him because he murdered my friend." Anger gnawed unpleasantly at the pit of his stomach. How could Biara possibly not understand what he was saying?

But the marten merely smirked. "And how do you know it was murder, Quincy? Were you there? Do you really think that little fop could take on a full-grown badger? How can you rule out an accidental death so easily?"

"Because..." he began, but stopped himself. It would probably be better not to even mention Saveaux. It might lead to some sticky questions.

_See? It could have been an accident!_ a small voice inside him reasoned. _Maybe Saveaux was mistaken!_

Still not convinced, but too tired to argue the point further with the marten, Quincy gritted his teeth hard. "Fine!" he barked. "Let him come. We need all the help we can get anyway."

When Biara had gone, Quincy went to his water basin and dunked his blood-stained face in. The liquid was cool and refreshing, and it calmed the hare's nerves somewhat. When he came up the water had turned a deep, cloudy pink. Grabbing a towel, the hare scrubbed until his fur was about as clean as it was going to get until he had time for a proper bath. Quincy gave one last glance in the mirror at his pitifully lopsided ears before heading downstairs.

* * *

A short while later, he, Biara, Desmond, Hector, Jolice, and the rest of the escaped servants gathered in Biara's room. Desmond looked so miserable that Quincy very nearly felt sorry for him. Some small, creepy things were wriggling about on his wounds, and Quincy guessed this must be the unpleasant treatment he himself had narrowly avoided. The squirrel sat on Biara's bed, propped up on pillows and looking decidedly sulky.

Without so much as a greeting to the pine marten, Hector threw open the doors to Biara's closet and began to rummage through it.

"Hellsteeth!" the healer exclaimed, storming over. "Just because I invited you all here doesn't make my closet your own personal playground, mouse."

She stopped in her tracks when Hector pushed open a hidden door at the back of the closet.

The marten's jaw dropped. "I...But...my mirror..."

Hector smiled grimly. "Trust me, I've had plenty more time to study this castle than you, Miss Sable. There are many hidden doors you most likely don't know about." He beckoned to a rat and an otter. "Gerald, Naomi, watch the passageways to make sure we're not being overheard."

"Right, let's get started then, shall we?" said Hector as Gerald and Naomi went through the newly discovered door armed with weapons purloined from the armory.

Quincy looked around, realization dawning. "Wait, where is Kima?"

"Off being crazy, probably," Desmond muttered sourly.

"I haven't seen her since, well, the incident with Nallmian," said Biara.

Hector tapped a paw on Biara's desk. "We don't exactly have time to wait around for her. We can inform her of the plan later when she shows up."

"Right," Quincy said slowly, unable to hide the disapproval from his voice. "I had been hoping we could all do this together, but I suppose time is of the essence."

The hare looked around at the faces before him, an array of diverse expressions. "It's quite simple, really, chaps. We cannot go to Professor Falliss without risking much worse than this." He pointed to his ear. "If we cannot go to him, then, as Hector has said before, we need to figure out a way to get him to come to us. I think the key lies in his servants. You've seen how old he is; I doubt he's even able to fly for more than a short distance, if at all. The mad old bird depends on his servants for food and care."

"I have just the thing to take care of the servants," said Biara with a smile. "That is, unless a certain little tart has stolen that as well."

"Yes, that awful wench," Desmond agreed quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly.

"I have just the thing that can make them just sick and delirious enough not to be able to do their duties. Or, if you're looking for something with a bit more of a kick..."

"There will be no more drugging of servants," Quincy scowled, cutting Biara short. "Haven't they been put through enough of that kind of thing?"

"At least it was effective," said Biara.

Jolice shook her head. "I don't think it will work. They're probably expecting that sort of thing now, ever since the ball."

"Besides," Hector added, "the drugs will eventually either wear off or run out. There are still plenty of servants faithful to the Professor that will attack us when they are able. We need a more drastic way to deal with them."

"There will also be no more killing of servants!" Quincy cried.

Hector rolled his eyes. "I'm not suggesting killing them...unless, of course, they ask for it."

"Good," Quincy said tersely. "Falliss has held us all prisoner. What if we take a leaf out of his book?"

Desmond's eyebrow shot up almost impossibly high. "So we're going to imprison his servants within a prison? How are we supposed to do that?"

"No, no, this could work," said Hector, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Incapacitating all of his servants until Falliss has no one left but Jeremy and Agatha. They'd be horribly outnumbered. Once those two have fallen, Falliss could either be stubborn and starve to death, or eventually he'd have to come out and face us."

"I think we need to get everyone else out of the breeding room first," Jolice said hopefully.

"The...the what, now?" Desmond's other eyebrow zoomed up to meet the first.

"It's this awful room under the basement," Quincy said. "Some servants are thrown down there and their only job is to have children, which are then immediately torn away from their loving parents and brainwashed by Falliss to grow up to be good little servants and do his bidding. Jolice's mother is still down there."

The squirrel seemed too dumbfounded to speak, so Hector took advantage of the momentary lull in the conversation.

"We need to enlist the help of the servants down there if we are to have any hope of pulling this off. The armory should be our base of operations, I think. It's near the front gates, plus, with Falliss's beasts not able to access—"

A shriek sounded from beyond Biara's closet, followed by sounds of scuffling. Quincy and Hector both dashed toward the closet, but before they got to it, Naomi the otter burst into the room, clutching a bloody arm. She was followed by Gerald, who was still grappling with a much smaller opponent.

Biara's eyes widened. "_Saveaux_?"

The rat managed to grab the newt's arms and twist them behind his back. Saveaux writhed and hissed, his short legs kicking and tail thrashing about. Quincy hadn't seen him this angry since he'd hurled a soup bowl at Professor Falliss.

"That little monster attacked me!" Naomi howled, blood dripping steadily from the gash in her arm.

"Let him go, Gerald," Quincy demanded.

"Are you sure?" the rat asked. "I thought we could trust him, but—"

"I said, let him go," the hare repeated.

He let go and Saveaux scowled at the rat before turning to Quincy and the others. Biara stepped forward with a smile so wide and so smug that it looked almost painful.

"Well, well, it appears that by some miracle, St. Quincy's friend, Saveaux, has returned from the dead. Because, of course," she chuckled, eyeing Quincy, "Quincy would never lie to me. Lying is so far below pure-hearted hares."

Quincy's mouth opened, but no justifying sounds came forth, because there wasn't anything plausible the hare could really say. They had both lied and gotten caught. Biara clearly looked entertained by the hare's display of defeat.

"You're right, Biara, I lied as well. I apologize," he sighed eventually, hanging his head. "But it wasn't my idea."

"Oh really? But then, why would _Saveaux_ have reason to want me to believe he was dead, only to appear at a secret entrance to my bedroom that I didn't know about?"

The marten had stepped forward until she was just paces from Saveaux, fixing the newt with her icy glare. The newt glared boldly back, only breaking eye contact to begin to write something in his journal.

"Why don't you take everyone down to the armory?" Quincy murmured to Hector. "I'll meet you down there in a minute."

The mouse nodded, excusing himself and the others as they made their exodus from the room, leaving the remaining four guests to their own devices. Though, as it turned out, Saveaux had his own ideas. The newt handed the hare his journal.

_"Quincy, you should leave."_


	79. Returned from the Dead

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 77. Returned from the Dead****  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

'Quincy, you should leave.'

The hare crumpled the note, tossing it aside.

"No. I've had too much of secrets and meetings behind my back. There's only us now and we shouldn't be hiding things from each other."

At those words, Saveaux cast a glance to Biara. The marten did not so much as raise an eyebrow.

"F-fffiiiin-n-e. Sssst-a-a-a-y."

Quincy took a seat behind Saveaux. The newt held quill to paper but did not move, his eyes wandering from Biara to the book and over his shoulder to the hare.

"So, why are you…here? I thought you were dead." Desmond cut in.

Ink bled onto the paper in quick strokes as the newt wrote at long last, 'I apologize for my ruse. I instructed Quincy to inform the other guests that I had passed, in the hopes that I would be able to move about unhindered should everybeast, the professor included, think I was dead. But what I am here for now takes priority; I want to help Biara.'

That time she did raise an eyebrow. "I haven't the slightest what you are talking about. I am perfectly capable of servicing Desmond's injuries on my own I'm…flattered that you want to aide me, but-"

Saveaux stopped writing. She was not going to stop long enough to read his note.

"Ss-iiiii-cKk…y-y-yoooo," he grunted, pointing to the medic.

Biara blinked, her ears dropping the tiniest fraction. "What do you mean?"

As she kept silent this time, Saveaux continued to write his note, finish it and hand the paper to the marten.

'I have noted your behavior ever since the interrogation with the servant; Bernard, was his name, correct? I thought it thoroughly illogical that a medic, especially one so kind as to offer assistance to a strange amphibian from whom most unfamiliar creatures would flee or else poke fun at, would relish in the suffering of others. That was when I made the realization; you are ill, Biara. There is something inside of you and I want to help get it out.'

"Rubbish. You don't know what you're talking about."

Saveaux blinked. After gingerly replenishing his quill in the small ink well he carried, he began to write in sharp staccato.  
"What do you mean? What did he write?" asked Quincy.

"None of your business!" replied Biara.

"It _is_ my business! We are the only ones left. Everybeast's business is eveybeast _else's_ business!"

"Since when did you get to make rules for us?" Desmond decided to cut in.

"S-S-sssssss-T-O-P!"

They did. Saveaux thrust the second note at Biara. He placed a hand against Quincy's chest to prevent him from stealing a glance of the paper but felt it shoved aside as Quincy pushed passed the newt, snatched the note from Biara and proceeded to read it aloud.

"'I have seen it. Every time you're on the verge of a laugh or a frown, a real one, not the ones you fake to convince everybeast else that you are fine, you seize up. At the funeral, you could feel nothing. When Nallmian died, you could feel nothing. I am not daft, Biara, I know that you think you cannot feel and it's driven you to do things most foul.'"

Quincy looked at the newt. "What things?"

"Where have you been this entire time?" Desmond began to laugh but stopped when he realized that Saveaux was not referring to the obvious transgressions against the castle staff.

Biara's gaze was still, and in that moment, Saveaux realized how empty it must feel behind those eyes.

"Go ahead," said the marten, "Tell us what you mean."

"S-ss-ee-ee-nnn…i-T-T-t."

"Seen what, Saveaux?" Quincy asked.

The newt faced the ground, causing Quincy to lightly clutch him by the shoulders and turn his face to look at him.

"Saveaux, you have to tell me. It's just us now. We're the only ones left."

"Only sane ones, anyway." added Desmond.

Saveaux's lips parted into a grimace.

"N-oooo…y-ooo-u…r-iii-ghTTt. Kiii…maa."

"She's dead?" said Biara. He thought he saw some light in her eyes then. It made him sick. "How?"

Saveaux pointed a rigid finger to his chest.

"You? You took care of that lunatic?" said Desmond.

"No-ooo…lll-u-" he began, but stopped, realizing that he was right; Kima had been mad.

"You still didn't answer my question, Saveaux; how did you kill her?"

Saveaux wrote his response slowly, staving off the beginnings of tears that were pawing at his eyes.

'I thought that I might be able to eliminate Kima's bloodlust, but what I did not know was that her compulsions to kill were also caused by a split personality. Because of my rash action, she tricked me, overwhelmed me and forced me to defend myself. There was nothing I could do.'

Biara finished the note and laughed. "So, you helped her and now you want to help me, is that it?"

"N-n-oo! N-n-oo-t-"

"Well if you couldn't help poor, dear Kima, what makes you think you can help me?"

Saveaux glowered at the marten. He was finding it increasingly more difficult to suppress the anger from before; the dagger appeared for a moment in his thoughts before he forced the image away.

He wrote, barely concealing his hand's quaking, 'Cease this idiocy! You need help, Biara, but I can do nothing if you do not desire it. I implore you to think of what it is you really want. Will you let me help you?'

"I think you should leave, Saveaux."

With a snap, he closed his journal and turned towards the door, not sparing a single glance backward. Saveaux walked several paces down the hall before sitting down and proceeding to write two letters. The first read as follows;

_Biara,_

Though you have refused it, my offer still stands. You know what I have seen, and because of this, I have come to a conclusion as to what I must do: I forgive you. Because somebeast has to. Remember this, as I hope you will forgive me for what I may do.

He did not sign it; rather, he moved on to the second letter;

_Desmond,_

You may yet be able to redeem yourself, but I doubt you will be willing, fixated on only your own well-being as you are. I would have offered to help you as well, but as it stands, I can do nothing. What you have done and what you continue to do is a choice. Only you can alter your own path. Know, though, that I offer you the olive branch. It is your decision whether to take it or burn it.

Saveaux crossed the hall to Biara's door and, staring at it as though he were facing the marten herself, deftly tossed the letters to the floor without leveling his gaze. The newt gave a start when the door opened to reveal Quincy. The hare looked down at the letters but, from his expression (and the one Saveaux gave him), knew he shouldn't tamper with them. The two began to walk down the hall a length side by side before the hare spoke.

"Desmond still needs to recover. Biara's not coming with us right away; Tombstone is still chasing Desmond and she said she wants to take care of it before helping us so it doesn't wind up thwarting our plans…Saveaux…what was it that you saw?"

The newt wrote, 'Do you want us all to leave this castle alive?'

"…What kind of a question is that? Yes, more than anything."

Quincy had hesitated a bit. This unsettled the newt, but he replied, nonetheless, 'Then you cannot know. We cannot turn on each other, not when we are so close to being free of this place.'

Had there been any doubt that Quincy used to be a soldier, the stare he gave Saveaux would have eradicated it.

"I understand. But Saveaux, you _will_ have to tell me eventually."

The newt motioned to write, stopping before the quill tip met parchment. Quincy would inevitably find out. He needed to find out. As much as Saveaux wanted to protect Biara, there was nothing he could do to stop the hare from doing whatever it was that he thought should be done, once the truth was learned. What was more, he had to let it happen; Rhea was Quincy's friend. If Biara was to be punished, the final decision should be the hare's.

The newt grabbed one of the hare's fingers.

"No-ooo…t-t-te-llll…sh-sh-sssh-ooo-w."

----

The newt reached for the top of the sheet, wrapped his fingers around the fabric, pulled down. Her eyes had been closed, her chest set back into one part instead of two. It was little consolation, but at least now she looked…dignified wasn't the word. Peaceful, perhaps, but whenever Saveaux groped about his mind for the correct term, he only returned one: _Dead_.

The hare collapsed, knelt over in a quivering, weeping ball. Knowing he could do nothing, Saveaux took a step back, placing himself near the door as soon as he anticipated the hare's next move. Quincy did as expected, jumping up, crossing to the exit with a twitching scowl.

"N-o…go-o-o…n-n-e-e-d-"

"Move, Saveaux!"

"P-l-lll-a-nn…nee-ee-dd-"

"_MOVE!_"

He seized the newt by the shoulders, tossing him aside and to the floor. Saveaux reached for his belt and launched his ink well at the hare; it missed by a foot but caught his attention. He stopped, arms braced on the door frame.

"B-A-aaa-rrrr-a…g-ggg-on-nnne…nnnneee-d-D-d…ssssssss-c-c-a-pe!"

The hare remained leaning against the door frame, paws seemingly fused to the fibers. Minutes passed before, without turning, he said, "Saveaux…we will get out of here alive…but…what then? How can I let…"

Something struck the ground next to his foot. Quincy picked it up, unfolded it and read.

'Quincy; I am sorry. Though those three words mean nothing to you, I am sorry all the same. I cannot ask you to fathom why I still want to help Biara, so I won't. I know now that, although I want to save her, her fate is not my choice. You are the one she has wronged, so it is yours. As long as we are in this castle, I cannot guarantee that I will not prevent you from harming her; but, once we escape, I promise that I will not attempt to prevent you from doing what you think is right.'


	80. Painkiller

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 78. Painkiller****  
**

_by Biara  
_

When all was said and done, Biara and Desmond were left alone in the healer's room once more.

_Well…_ Biara glanced at her closet in irritation. _Hopefully alone._

Biara was about to say something, but Desmond beat her to it. "We have to get rid of Tombstone."

"Quite." The marteness tapped a claw to her chin contemplatively.

"How about you stick him with that needle of yours?" The male asked.

Biara snorted. "It's not as simple as that. If I can't find a suitable vein, then I might as well just stab him and be done with it. Besides, I'm not sure what sort of dose would be required for a beast of his size."

Both beasts were silent for a moment, concentrating. Desmond's ears perked up. "An ambush."

Biara blinked, and the squirrel elaborated. "You gave him an injury before, right? Well, why don't we cripple him completely?"

"That could work... It could work very well, in fact. You'd be the bait, of course," she said with a small grin. "And then when Tombstone comes in, I'll sever the tendon in his heel." She could picture it perfectly in her mind, and smiled at the thought. "An easy job."

"Speaking of bait," Desmond said, chancing a distasteful glance at his arm. "Would you take them out now?"

The marten huffed. "Do you want to get gangrene?"

"No, but they've been in there for long enough, and you know it. How do you expect me to do _anything_ like this? Either take them out and bandage it properly, or deal with Tombstone yourself." He looked away stubbornly. "By the way, good luck taking him by surprise without me."

Biara flexed her claws. Truth be told, the damage Helena had done to his arm wasn't as bad as it could have been and she had been considering bandaging the wound anyway, but it didn't mean Desmond had to carry on so much about it. "Fine," she consented. _At the very least there won't any more whinging._

Desmond looked on in relief as Biara carefully removed the maggots. The marten was pleasantly surprised at how efficient they were. Making a mental note to use them in the future, she dipped a rag in the paw basin and set to work.

As the healer was applying a bandage to the wound, Desmond spoke up. "What exactly did Saveaux mean when he said he 'found it'?"

_I might as well tell him, or I suppose I'll never hear the end of it._ "Rhea's body," she said simply. "I've been doing some research. Fascinating stuff, really." She didn't say anything more, and judging by the look on Desmond's face, nothing more needed to be said.

Saveaux's voice burrowed its way into her mind. _Ss-iiiii-cKk…y-y-yoooo_ She tossed it aside with a mental snarl. It was all very well for the little newt to spout his ideals when he had blood on his own claws. There was no shame in what she did, and the marten sneezed at the very thought of needing to be cured. Besides, the more she knew about the body, the better she could help beasts in need.

The fact that cutting into Rhea's soft fur had felt so very _good_ was simply a happy little bonus.

The process of dressing the wound didn't take long at all. Biara grinned smugly as she looked over the dressing; _Another job well done._ "How does that feel?"

"Much better," Desmond said.

Biara nodded amiably and stood up, stretching. "Well, there's no time like the present." She assisted her patient off the bed, who winced a little at the effort. "Don't worry, Desmond, if all goes according to plan you won't have to do a thing."

"Yes, well," Desmond said, "it's the 'if' that worries me…"

Biara chortled. "There's—"

The marteness stopped immediately and flicked her ears forward; heavy paw steps could be heard approaching the room. Desmond obviously heard them as well and took a few tentative steps away from the door and behind Biara. Both beasts stood silently with baited breath as the paw steps increased in volume, then decreased before stopping altogether. Desmond and Biara exchanged glances.

"Do you think he knows we're in here?" Desmond asked nervously.

"He might have just been patrolling." Biara pawed at her scar. "But anyway we can't just wait in here forever."

The male scowled at her. "Maybe you can't," he snorted. "You're not the one who he's set on painfully murdering."

"Fine, I'll take a look." _Woodlanders._ Unsheathing her knife, the marteness crept across the room to the door and opened it just the smallest bit, peeking outside. The entire hallway was perfectly clear. Biara felt somewhat foolish for getting so worried. "It's all right, he's not there."

Desmond crept up behind her, not looking at all convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Biara scoffed. "The last time I checked, giant badgers are somewhat difficult to miss."

Desmond shot the marten a rather venomous glance. "Fine, just go."

Biara smirked slightly, but nodded and stepped out into the hallway. No sooner had she done so than a fearsome growl sounded from the stairwell, and Tombstone barreled toward her. Biara nearly jumped a full foot in the air, clutching her knife in a death grip.

Before Biara could escape back to her room, Tombstone's recognized the blade wielding marten as the same beast that had attacked her before. Baring his teeth, he effectively disarmed the marten with one crushing blow to the paw that sent her knife skidding across the floor. Biara winced, and that was all the time it took for the badger to pick her up by the scruff of her neck and toss her casually aside.

The pine marten hit the ground hard and rolled. Forcing herself onto her knees, she glanced up to see Tombstone begin to squeeze himself into her room.

_By the claw!_ Snarling with rage, she bounded to her paws and leaped at the badger's broad back, sinking her claws in as deep as she could. "Hellgates! Get away from my room, stripedog!"

The badger barked, more in surprise than pain, and backed out of the doorway, thrashing about as Biara hung doggedly on. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Desmond practically fly out of her room and she dropped onto all fours just as the badger slammed himself against a wall in a final effort to dislodge the marten.

Biara scrabbled upright and was about to run for the stairwell when Tombstone grabbed her tail. Whipping around, she bit down savagely on the badger's paw, relishing the pained growl, and wriggled free, bounding across the hall and down the stairs.

The marten kept running until she arrived at the basement and then crouched in the shadows, tongue lolling. If Tombstone had given chase, it would take him a good amount of time to catch up to her. Hopefully.

"Biara?"

The marten yelped and shrunk back, covering her head with her paws. Peeking up, she saw the beast out for her blood was only Desmond giving her an odd glance. "'Gates, it's just me," he said.

"Right," Biara said, getting up and dusting herself off professionally. "Well, that worked as poorly as a plan ever could. I lost my knife too." She frowned, clenching and unclenching her sore blade paw.

Desmond looked somewhat uneasy. "What now?"

"Well, we can always try luring him down here," Biara said with an emphatic sweep of her tail. "The water chamber should work fine. It's big enough, and if he falls into the lake, then even better." Desmond nodded, and the two beasts made their way toward the water cavern.

Biara looked around the dimly lit room, amber eyes coming to rest on a rather large boulder. "All right, the plan remains unchanged." She offered her companion a sidelong grin. "You still get to be the bait, so sit tight over there and try to keep that arm elevated, if you can." Before Desmond could protest, she ducked behind the rock and drew her scalpel. It wouldn't be nearly as effective as the knife, but it would have to do.

It wasn't long before Tombstone's thudding approach was felt, and Biara flattened herself against the boulder as the badger lumbered into the room. His eyes fell on Desmond, but before he could charge forward, Biara lunged out and sliced at Tombstone's heel. She missed the badger's tendon, and shrieked as he stamped down hard on her tail, effectively trapping the pine marten. Tears beading in her eyes, she lashed out with her scalpel, but fell short of her mark once more. Tombstone picked the smaller creature up and shook her like a ragdoll before throwing her bodily into the murky lake.

Biara flailed and broke the surface, spitting out water and gasping for breath. She tried levering herself onto land, but Tombstone lifted her once again by the scruff, and tightened his blunt claws around her neck.

The marteness twisted and wriggled, kicking and slashing at the badger's belly and biting him hard. However, her struggles proved to be no match for Tombstone's awesome strength, and she realized with a start that she might very well die.

And then, suddenly, the pressure was gone and she fell to the ground with a bump, stifling a scream at the pain in her wrecked tail. Pushing herself weakly onto her elbows, her gaze went from the knife protruding from Tombstone's side to Desmond standing at the other end of the cavern. She smiled; it wasn't a perfect throw, but he was learning.

Tombstone pulled ineffectually at the hilt of the knife for a brief moment before giving up and turning on his real prey. Desmond froze for just a moment, and then dashed away in a wide loop around the cavern. Biara looked around desperately, and found that her scalpel was still lying forlornly on the ground not too far from her. She scurried forward and grabbed the tool, shoving it into a crack in the stone floor blade-side up. Desmond realized what she was doing and ran toward her, Tombstone hot on his heels.

Desmond skipped nimbly past the buried blade, but Tombstone was completely focused on his quarry and wasn't so fortunate. He howled as the small blade lodged itself in his footpaw, and lost his balance, toppling over. Desmond twisted out of the way as the badger grabbed at him, and with a surge of energy, Biara sprang up and wrenched the knife out of Tombstone's side. The marten attempted to stab the larger beast in the stomach, but was knocked aside effortlessly.

Grabbing the handle of the scalpel, Desmond pushed it further into Tombstone's footpaw, and when the badger attempted to kick the smaller male out of the way, Biara rushed in once more. The marten ducked what would have been a crushing blow and plunged the knife into the badger's stomach, twisting the blade in up to its hilt.

Tombstone struggled and snarled, but already his eyes were misting over and Desmond and Biara backed away from the monstrous badger as he began to cough up blood. He gritted his teeth in a fearsome grimace at his foes and lunged up in one last attempt to fight before falling over, sightless eyes staring up at the cavern ceiling.

The blood-spattered pine marten and squirrel stood over their kill. Biara wordlessly pulled out her scalpel and wiped the blade on the badger's tunic. Desmond tried to do the same with the knife, but winced at the effort.

"Don't do that." Biara intercepted and pulled the knife out herself. "You've put entirely too much pressure on that arm as it is." She glanced over to the squirrel. "How is it feeling, by the way?" She was tempted to stab the badger again just for all the damage he'd caused to her work.

"Terrible," Desmond said matter-of-factly, "but as long as Tombstone is gone for good, then it's not so bad." Before Biara could respond, he spoke up once more. "How are _you_ feeling, Biara?"

The pine marten blinked, completely caught off guard by the question. Her blood-soaked tail was dragging limply behind her, and when she tried to lift it, she gasped at the intense pain, squeezing her eyes shut. "I suppose I could be better," she panted.

Desmond rolled his eyes. "Oh, now you notice? We'd better get back to your room before you drop dead. I still need my arm fixed, you know."

Biara took one last look at the slain badger and flicked her ears in recognition, before following the squirrel out of the cavern.

The two beasts made their way back to Biara's room with little fanfare, although by the time they arrived, the marten felt as though her tail was every bit on fire from being dragged up the stairs. Biara trudged into her room just as Desmond called her. She half-turned and saw the squirrel holding two bedraggled notes.

"Looks like these were meant for us," he said, "although how Saveaux ever expected us to find them lying about in the hallway like that is anybeast's guess."

Biara accepted the slip of paper, although she was assaulted by a rather fearsome headache when she tried to read it. Whether it was because of the fight or what the letter had to say, Biara wasn't sure, but regardless, the marten was certain that she was not at all in the mood for it at the present. Wincing, she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Desmond was about to hop onto the marten's bed, when something made him stop. "... You need it more," he murmured, and took a seat on the adjacent wooden chair that Biara had sat on earlier.

"Thank you," Biara said, giving the squirrel a little half-smile. The healer eased herself onto the bed gingerly, reaching for her medicine pouch, which she'd left on top of the coverlet. The marten ever so hated pain when she was the recipient…

Desmond stretched, and in doing so, accidentally slammed his elbow into the edge of the chair's arm. He jerked back with a muted curse, and as he did, something fell out of his pocket. Biara leaned forward suddenly, her work forgotten, as she recognized the carefully labeled packet on the floor. _Willow bark._ Or more precisely, _her_ willow bark.

The marteness glared icy daggers at Desmond, who grinned nervously. "I can explain?"


	81. You Had My Heart

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 79. You Had My Heart****  
**

_by Desmond  
_

"I can explain." Desmond smiled nervously.

"Oh, really? Seems like there isn't much to explain," Biara pointed out snidely.

The squirrel sighed. "I had a headache," he said. "In fact, I have one now, too. Shall I make some tea? I'm sure you could use some, too…" He trailed off and cringed back in the chair when Biara hit him with a dagger-like glare.

"Headache or not, who gave you permission to take my things, hm?!"

Desmond threw up his paws in frustration. "You were… de- I mean… not around." He bit his tongue, wondering how to explain that he'd thought she was dead without actually saying as much.

"You could have waited," she snapped. "Nobeast ever died of a headache."

"I may be the first, if you don't stop shouting," he shot back, ruffled. "Look, I didn't even get around to using any of it. It's all here, just the way you had it."

"Hmph!" She bent down from her perch on the bed and snatched the package off the floor. "Fine; you still should have asked."

"Well, I will next time," Desmond said tiredly. "Better yet, I'll just keep out of Jeremy's way in the future. I've had the most awful headaches ever since he gave me that completely unnecessary clout to the head." He reached up to feel the spot and see if there was still a lump and squeaked as his right arm protested such usage.

"Probably have a mild concussion," Biara muttered, trying not to look interested. "And stop throwing your arm around. Just because it's bandaged doesn't mean you can use it like you normally do." She paused and added, "Where's the hemlock, then?"

Desmond raised one eyebrow. "Hemlock? What do you mean?"

Biara sighed. "Even if you _weren't_ a terrible liar, I wouldn't believe you. It's pretty obvious you took it, Desmond, and if you don't tell me where it is, then you're going to find out that what Jeremy did to your head was mere child's play."

"All right, I took it." Desmond waved his left paw dismissively. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather it stay where it is."

"I _do_ mind, thank you," she snarled. "In case you've forgotten, it belongs to me."

"It's perfectly secure," Desmond protested. "I just think we're all safer if it's not readily available."

"To anyone but yourself, you mean?" Biara snorted. "Don't be an idiot, Desmond. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't bother treating you – or help you get rid of the badger who was dead set on killing you for that matter. I'm beginning to regret that last one, I might add," she informed him icily.

Desmond edged away, noticing for the first time that she was holding her scalpel. Biara wasn't a beast to make idle threats, he mused. "Fine," he said sulkily. "I hid it in my room." He paused and added vehemently, "And no, I will not get it for you! Find it yourself if you want it so badly!" With that, he launched himself to his footpaws and stomped to the door.

"_Where_ in your room?" Biara demanded as his paw touched the door-handle. "Or shall I just rummage through your things? It seems fitting, as you don't seem to have any qualms about pawing through mine."

"It's under the mattress!" Desmond growled, and stormed out the door, halting just before he barreled into the hare standing outside.

"Oh," he said in surprise, shutting the door neatly behind him. "Quincy."

"Desmond," Quincy returned, voice tight. "Your arm's looking better," he noted, but the observation sounded forced.

"Oh, yes, it is. Biara patched it up…" Desmond stopped, fuming inwardly. The marten seemed to think she could order him around at whim! Frowning, he turned his mind back to the conversation at hand. "Anyhow, what are you here for?"

"To talk to Biara, actually. I'm going to get the rest of the trapped servants out of – "

"The breeding room," Desmond finished.

Quincy gave him an odd look. "Yes. I was wondering if she might like to help." The hare shrugged stiffly.

"Yes, well, I very much doubt it," Desmond said smoothly. "I don't think she's quite up to it at the moment. She was wounded, see, and – "

The squirrel didn't have time to finish before Quincy grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, oblivious to the squirrel's cry of pain.

"You tried to kill her, didn't you," the hare snarled into his face. "The same way you killed Rhea!"

Desmond hardly heard what the other male was saying through the throbbing agony in his arm. "Let me go!" he rasped, trying to escape from Quincy's grip. His eyes watered as the hare's paw tightened around his wounded shoulder. "Let go, you idiot!" He kicked out with his hind legs, but they weren't long enough to do any damage.

Abruptly, Quincy's eyes widened, and he seemed to remember Desmond's injuries. The hare broke his hold on the squirrel and Desmond slumped against the wall, cursing the pain.

"Well?" Quincy demanded.

Desmond glared at him. "I've done no such thing," he snapped. "Biara's far more useful alive than she is dead, and if I had been so foolish as to attempt to murder her, I would probably be dead instead of having this charming discussion with you." The pain eased slightly, and he straightened, still breathing hard. "As for Rhea, that was an act of self defense. And until you've looked a beast about to kill you in the eye and had to decide between their life or yours, then don't bloody lecture me about Rhea!"

Quincy looked as if he'd been slapped, but he collected himself quickly. "All right," he said quietly. "Who gives you the right to make that choice?"

Desmond met the hare's eyes and replied evenly. "The beast that's decided to take your life."

Quincy didn't respond and Desmond tactfully changed the subject. "What's this about rescuing servants?" he returned to their original topic of conversation.

"Er – yes. I don't think you'd be interested," Quincy said quickly. "I'll just tend to that myself."

"Nonsense!" Desmond shook his head decisively. "I wouldn't dream of making you do it on your own. Teamwork, that's what we need more of." He smiled, knowing the hare wouldn't have the heart to turn him down. "Just lead the way!"

Quincy glowered at him for a moment and then turned on his heel and strode toward the stairs. "Do try and keep up," he barked over his shoulder.

Desmond chuckled, rubbing his paws together in delight as he hurried after the hare. _Off to the breeding room!_

If nothing else, it would be very, _very_ interesting.

*

His good mood evaporated slightly on the way down to the basement, however; Quincy seemed dead set on keeping a ridiculously fast pace, and Desmond was hard put to keep up. Hoping that conversation would slow the hare down, the squirrel mentally groped for a topic to bring up.

"If you don't mind my asking, how are you going to convince them to come with us?" he ventured, panting.

Quincy didn't slow in the least. "They've been without food or water for over a day," he tossed over his shoulder. "I don't think we'll have much trouble on that count."

"Ah," said Desmond, and saved his breath for trotting. He hoped none of the gashes reopened, because then he'd have to face that infuriating marten again, and then she'd lecture him about doing too much too soon and just be generally irritating.

Quincy slowed to a halt and gestured for Desmond to stay where he was before creeping closer to a door on the right and listening for a moment. Turning, he waved for the squirrel to join him.

"There's two servants guarding the entrance," he whispered when they were side by side. "If we both strike at once, we have a good chance of taking them captive without any blood spilt on either side."

"Sounds peachy," said Desmond. "How are you going to keep them restrained?"

"Tie them up," Quincy explained, gesturing toward his waist; Desmond noticed for the first time that the hare had a considerable length of rope wound about like a belt.

At Quincy's signal, they struck, and the plan went mostly without a hitch, though Desmond's arm began to bleed slightly while he was grappling with the smaller servant; still, it didn't seem to be too serious, and after the two guards had been subdued and bound, he refused when Quincy offered to let him go back upstairs so that Biara could take care of it.

"It's fine," he said breezily. "On to the servants, right?" He pointed to a ragged hole in the wall, covered clumsily by a vent that looked as if it had once been attached and then torn off. "I'm guessing that's the entrance?"

Quincy nodded, re-winding the extra rope back around his waist. "Yes." He bent down and began to crawl through the hole, looking back to warn the squirrel. "Watch your footing when we come through – it comes out partway down a stairway." With that, he disappeared through the hole into the darkness beyond, followed by the squirrel.

As the hare had predicted, they came out at the middle of a stairwell and Quincy immediately started down, Desmond close behind. It was eerily quiet, and Desmond shivered; he didn't think the servants had been trapped long enough for any of them to have died, but he couldn't help but wonder… He sighed in relief as Quincy led him off the stairs into a large, open room and the sound of groaning reached his ears, emanating from the numerous small rooms branching off from the main chamber.

"We should have made them come with us," Quincy muttered, a stricken expression on his features. He started for the nearest doorway, but before he could enter, an older male hare came out and stopped when he saw them.

"Quincy," he said, surprise in his voice. "You came back."

"Yes, of course, Vincent," said Quincy. "_Some_ of us care for more than our own comfort." Immediately after speaking, a look of guilt came over his face, and he shook his head, saying quietly, "I'm only sorry I didn't come sooner." He looked around as a few other beasts straggled out of the doorways. "I've come to show you the way out. Did everyone make it alive?"

The older hare, Vincent, nodded. "Some of the elders are extremely weak, but yes."

"And Althea? How is she?"

"Fine," came a voice from the doorway that Vincent had come from. Desmond looked up to see a female hare leaning weakly against the doorframe. "Though I'll feel much better once I'm out of this place." She tottered out to stand by Vincent, who circled one arm around her shoulders. Desmond raised an eyebrow; judging by her figure, the title "breeding room" had been given aptly.

"Good," said Quincy, sounding relieved. "Is everyone else ready to leave as well?"

"See for yourself," Althea said, sounding amused. Desmond glanced around to see that everybeast had gathered in the main room and was watching them expectantly.

…All but one. A male pine marten had sat down in one of the chairs in the room and was refusing to budge, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl frozen on his face.

"Gregory," one of the servants was pleading, "The professor isn't going to interfere. That's quite clear by now. Our only chance is to leave."

"If that imbecile had left us alone in the first place, we wouldn't have to leave at all!" he argued, pointing a trembling claw at Quincy. "He should have known better than to involve us in the professor's games."

"Look," Quincy's voice was hard as he faced the marten. "I'm sorry I brought you all into this, but what's done is done. Besides, you may have forgotten what it's like to live your life as you please, to do what you want when you want to, but _I_ haven't. No matter how pleasant Falliss makes any of this seem, there's more to life than… _this_!"

Desmond inwardly snorted. Quincy obviously had no idea what he was talking about; the living arrangements looked perfectly comfortable to him!

"We were happy here," Gregory protested. "Until you came along!"

Desmond sighed. This could go on forever, if nothing happened to prevent it. "Gregory," he cut in neatly, getting the pine marten's attention. "How do you feel? You look hungry. Not that I care, or anything, you understand, but I think you'll be interested to know that up that stairway – " he pointed to the stairs that he and Quincy had come down, "And through a few doors, is the kitchen." He paused for his meaning to sink in. "Last I saw, it was very well stocked. Bread, vegetables, fruit – even meat, if you like that sort of thing." He smirked at the vermin. "But it's not about to come down to you, so if you want to get at any of it, then you'd better come with us. But if you'd rather stay here and starve, that's fine by me." He shrugged and looked at Quincy. "Shall we go?"

The hare nodded and started for the stairwell, gesturing for them to follow. "Try to help anybeast who needs it," he instructed Desmond quietly, and went on without waiting for an answer.

Desmond frowned, waited until Quincy was too far ahead to hear, and delegated the task to one of the younger beasts who looked perky enough. He did glance back to see if Gregory had decided to follow, and smiled, amused, when he saw the marten trailing at the end of the group.

"Smarter than I thought," he remarked to nobeast in particular, and started up the stairs.

The group congregated in Sootpaws's room, and Desmond glanced at the exit, confused as to why they'd stopped here; Quincy had closed the door, however, and was standing in front of it, effectively blocking the way out.

"What is it now?" Gregory demanded when he arrived and saw what had happened. "Haven't you made enough speeches for one day?!"

Quincy cleared his throat. "You should all know," he began, "It's become imperative that we take down Falliss." He stopped, waiting for a response.

"That's all very well," one of the younger males, a mouse, spoke up, "But just in case you've forgotten, we're all famished. Any chance of getting to that kitchen before we make elaborate plans for overthrowing the professor?"

"Not until you promise not to bolt the moment I open the door," Quincy returned evenly. The beasts in the room shuffled anxiously, most giving their muttered assent; Althea and Vincent were among the first. A few hung back, however, and Quincy waited silently for their agreement. Desmond yawned, hoping that it was all resolved soon; he really was devilishly tired, and this was all turning out to be more trouble than it was worth. Paying little heed to what went on around him, the squirrel squeaked in surprise and pain as rough paws grabbed his shoulders from behind and shoved him forward to the ground.

"You promised us food if we followed you!" Gregory snarled, leaping for the squirrel's throat. "Lying, treacherous blackguard!"

Desmond tried to put up a fight, but Vincent and another of the servants pulled Gregory off him before the marten could do much damage. Desmond nodded to them gratefully, wincing when he caught sight of his arm; the short struggle had been the last straw, and the faint bloodstain on his bandage was growing ominously.

"'Gates," he murmured, unexplainably fascinated by the darkening stain. Feeling dazed, he glanced around to see Quincy handing Althea his rope and gesturing toward Gregory, who was still being held down.

"You and Vincent tie him up," Quincy instructed, and Althea hurried to do so. The younger hare looked down at Desmond, gaze flickering when he saw the squirrel's bloody arm. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Desmond said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "I rather think this should be seen to, though."

Quincy nodded. "You can go see Biara in a minute," he promised. Raising his voice, he addressed the whole room. "Anybeast who refuses to help us is welcome to join Gregory." The pine marten, bound and gagged, squirmed uncomfortably on the floor as all assembled glanced at him and then quickly looked away.

The servants that had hesitated before conferred amongst themselves and agreed. "We'll help," their spokesbeast, a ferretess, stated.

"Now can we please go eat?" the mouse that had spoken up earlier begged. "I'm about to die of thirst!"

Quincy studied their faces for a moment and nodded. "All right. Follow me." He opened the door and paused, glancing at Desmond. "Will you be able to get to the second floor by yourself?" he asked.

The squirrel nodded. "Should be fine," he said absently. He watched the hare lead the servants from the room, two of them half carrying Gregory and a few others dragging the unconscious guards along. He stood up, blinking; he was unexpectedly dizzy. Biara was going to be _angry_… Perhaps he'd better just go to his room. The bleeding was bound to stop soon enough, and if he could just lie down for a while, he might feel better. Wearily, he made his way out of the basement and sat down on the top stair to rest for a moment. His paws found their way to his pockets, and his right closed around a piece of paper; curiously, he pulled it out for inspection.

"Oh, yes," he murmured. It was the letter Saveaux had left for him; he hadn't had time to read it earlier, so he'd simply shoved it into his pocket. "I'll read it when I reach my room," he decided aloud, setting a goal for himself. Clutching the folded paper in his paw, he staggered to the second flight of stairs and started up, using the railing to pull himself along with his left arm. The stairs seemed to go on forever, but at last, he was at the top, and then it was only a short distance to his bedroom door. Desmond staggered into the room and to the bed, collapsing onto the mattress and resting his head against the pillows.

He lay still for a moment, doing nothing but breathing and trying to ignore the combined pain of all his injuries. Taking a deep breath, he wriggled into a more upright position, supported by the pillows, and held up the letter, unfolding it carefully.

_Desmond,_

You may yet be able to redeem yourself, but I doubt you will be willing, fixated on only your own well being as you are.

Desmond choked. "And so would you be, if everyone was trying to kill you!" he burst out.

_I would have offered to help you as well, but as it stands, I can do nothing. What you have done and what you continue to do is a choice. Only you can alter your own path. Know, though, that I offer you the olive branch. It is your decision whether to take it or burn it._

The squirrel stared at the letter for a moment and then crumpled it up and tossed it away in disgust. Saveaux was simply an arrogant windbag – albeit one without a voice – and best ignored. Desmond shoved the newt from his mind and looked down at his arm, cursing under his breath; the bleeding seemed to have slowed, but the bandage was still a mess, and it hurt terribly.

He'd just have to face Biara, then.

Forcing himself to his footpaws, Desmond steadied himself against the bed and then paused; groping about under the mattress with his left paw, he found the package of hemlock. Thus armed, he marched weakly across the hall and knocked on the healer's door.

After a brief moment, Biara cracked the door, peeking out to see whom it was before she opened it properly. The marten opened her mouth, but Desmond beat her to speaking.

"I'm sorry," he said, and offered her the package with his good paw. "I shouldn't have taken it."

Biara graciously accepted the bag. "Thank you."

Desmond gulped and showed her his other arm, coughing. "Also, my arm's bleeding."

Her eyes went from his arm to his face and back again, and she smiled suddenly, stepping back to let him into the room. "You seem to have a hard time staying out of trouble," she scolded.


	82. We Might As Well Be Strangers

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 80. We Might As Well Be Strangers  
**

_by Quincy  
_

_"For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." Ecclesiastes 1:18_

-------

"Are you sure you've not been starved as well?" a mouse asked Quincy.

The hare, who was halfway through his third sandwich, said thickly, "I'm a hare, chap; I'm always starved."

The escaped breeders hadn't even made it to the dining hall; instead they lounged about the kitchens, eating their fill. In one corner of the room, the cooks lay in an unconscious heap, and Vincent was reluctantly feeding a scone to an extremely sulky Gregory.

When they had had their fill, they gathered food in baskets and set off for the armory, dragging the unconscious guards, and now cooks, behind them.

"Ah, it's just you, Quincy," said one of the breeders as they entered, lowering his club.

Biara was checking up on Desmond's fresh bandages nearby, and it appeared she had bandaged herself up as well.

"What happened to you?" Quincy asked stiffly.

"Oh, no big deal, really, I just killed Tombstone and got mauled in the process. How have you been?"

"That reminds me," said Quincy, "Who was this Tombstone figure you were going on about earlier?"

"Where have you been?" Desmond almost squealed. "How could you not have heard about the giant, maniac badger that's been trying to kill me for the last couple of days?"

"You never told me," the hare snapped, fixing them both with a glare as he added, "You've not told me a lot of things."

"Well," said Biara, searching for an excuse, "it's because you never asked."

Quincy was about to ask Biara and Desmond to do something highly inappropriate indeed when Jolice brushed by him, gasping, "Mum! Mum, you're all right!"

Reunited once again, mother and daughter hugged. Jolice looked over mother's shoulder, caught a glimpse of Gregory tied up, and began to laugh uproariously.

In one corner of the room, Hector and Saveaux had been scribbling away at scraps of parchment for the entire time Quincy and Desmond had been off on their rescue mission. Finally the mouse and newt presented the fruits of their labors to Quincy, taking his attention off Biara and Desmond completely.

"Maps," Hector said. "Basic maps of the hidden passages, to the best of our recollection. Well, all the ones we'll need to reach the different rooms in the castle. We figured the passages are both the fastest and easiest way to travel and avoid detection, as most of the monitoring of guests goes on in these passageways. The servants' quarters should be avoided for now, until we've captured enough that we outnumber them sufficiently."

Quincy began doling out the maps to all present, a rather savage grin on his face. "Let's go give that sneaky bird a taste of his own medicine, eh, chaps?"

* * *

Marie the vixen poked her head into the main hall. Seeing it was deserted, the servant strode in as mechanically as ever, and, brandishing a feather duster as her weapon of choice, she began to attack the ever-encroaching dust.

The vulpine paused, ears swiveling this way and that, when she thought she heard a sound. After a moment she decided it was a figment of her imagination and went back to dusting.

She would come to regret this decision as, a few moments later, a sharp pain flared at the back of her skull and she sank into darkness.

* * *

"Do we really have to bash their skulls in?" Quincy grumbled as he fastened manacles about the unconscious vixen's ankles. "You hit her really hard."

"We've been through this," said Hector. "It's the only way to do it without risking having them sound the alarm."

The mouse had found a long chain with many sets of manacles attached to it shut away in an ornamental chest in the armory. He had fastened the ends to some iron racks bolted to the wall. The weapons that used to be displayed on that rack, as well as the other weapons from that side of the room had all been relocated to the other side, where a group of the former breeders were keeping watch.

Quincy finished clamping the manacles shut and left the vixen lying on the floor next to the rest of the captives, including two mice that had been unfortunate enough to walk into the armory earlier. Saveaux scurried up to the captive next, binding the fox's paws and gagging her with some strips of a spare set of sheets they'd found. Quincy turned his back on the newt. He didn't know what to say to Saveaux. He wanted so desperately to be angry at the newt for showing him Rhea's body, but he was really just angry with himself for pushing Saveaux to show him. He had hoped that after being kept in the dark for so long, as if he were just some innocent child being overprotected by nervous mothers, finally knowing the truth of his fellow guests' activities would be a relief. Instead, it had had the complete opposite effect, and the tenseness in any room he and the other guests occupied at any given time could be cut with a knife.

Biara was on the far side of the room, making sure that Denning's broken arm had been slung properly. The marten looked up and their eyes met. _She's a healer, and Rhea was already dead by the time she did her work on her._ Quincy had repeated this fact over and over to himself, but it was as if the words held no meaning and they sounded increasingly hollow every time he repeated them. Desmond was the one that killed Rhea, so he was a murderer. Biara had mutilated Rhea's body, which meant she had no respect for the badger. And here, she had hurt Denning, albeit in self-defense, and now she was patching up the same wounds she had inflicted. The marten clearly didn't bat an eye at inflicting injuries, though she was just as eager to patch them up. Quincy wondered how she managed to live such a contradiction.

And Desmond...Desmond cared only for himself. Quincy had never thought him capable of murdering anyone, especially Rhea, on the grounds that he just didn't seem the type to ever want to soil his paws or do any kind of work himself. His aggravating behavior in their initial search of the castle had proven just that, or so Quincy had thought. The hare had never known a woodlander to kill without provocation. He said Rhea had threatened him. Had he merely taken Rhea's somewhat blunt demeanor and translated it into a threat upon his life? Rhea couldn't have actually threatened him; she left Salamandastron to avoid the grisly decisions that often faced its ruler.

Naomi and Gerald stepped through a door behind a huge portrait of a badger warrior, dragging an unconscious ferret and hedgehog with them. Gerald was clearly happy to be rid of the hedgehog; he dumped the spiky servant unceremoniously by the rest of the captives and stopped to pick a few stray spines from his paws, wincing.

"But I want to help, too."

Quincy turned. Vincent was standing with Jolice and Althea, and it was clear they were having a heated discussion. Jolice pointed a warning paw at Vincent.

"Don't you even think about it, after what you did."

"Joli, please," said Althea. "He didn't mean to, he's a gentle soul, really..."

"I can't believe you're defending him!" Jolice hissed. "You know what? I don't have the energy to argue with you. He's _not_ helping us. Just be glad we're not chaining him up, too."

"Jolice," said Althea. The harewife drew herself up to full height. "I am your mother, and you cannot talk to me like that. I might not have been around that often, but that was hardly my fault!"

Jolice sneered. "Well, if you want to trust a traitor, that's fine, but you can't make me trust him."

"Don't call him that! He's not a traitor, he's..._Ahh_!"

Althea shrank back, her paws crossed over her swollen abdomen. All traces of anger were wiped from Jolice's face to be replaced with shock and concern. The haremaid ran to her mother, supporting her.

Quincy hurried over. "Althea, are you all right?"

"Yes," said the harewife, "I'm fine. I just need to rest a bit is all. All this excitement, doncha know..."

"Mum, I'm sorry," Jolice said. "I didn't mean..."

"It's quite all right," said Althea, though a little more primly than usual.

They sat Althea in a chair. Vincent knelt at her side, stroking her paw. "It's going to be all right, my sweet. I'll stay right here with you."

Jolice gave him a withering look but said nothing.

Meanwhile, more groups were returning from the hidden passages, dragging their charges back with them. The line of shackles was quickly filling up.

"What are we going to do once the manacles all get filled? There's no way there's enough for all of the servants," Quincy said to Hector and Saveaux.

"Pleeee-nnnty...shee-ee-eetsss," the newt answered.

"We can't hold them forever," Hector said, "but hopefully we can keep them all subdued until Falliss grows restless."

"Hector?" Naomi asked, appearing at the mouse's side.

"Yes?"

"I just did a quick head count, and Thomas's group hasn't come back from the library yet. They were one of the first groups to leave, too. Should we send someone to check on them?"

"I'll go," Quincy volunteered.

"Yes, that's fine," Hector said.

Quincy touched Jolice's shoulder. "Joli, why don't you come with me?"

"Ohh, but..." Jolice looked agitated. "Mum..."

"I'll be fine, I promise," Althea reassured her.

Jolice nodded. "All right, then."

The hares headed for the portrait door, which, as Quincy noticed, Biara happened to be standing next to, her bandaged tail twitching fitfully, right in his path. It was but the work of a moment: a hefty stomp, a shriek of agony, and an incredibly insincere apology later, he and Jolice hurried into the passage.

"Why, Quincy Tulep!" Jolice chuckled, once they could no longer hear Biara's colorful stream of curses. "I never would have expected that of you."

"Yes, I wouldn't have either," the hare said, grinning.

As they continued down the passage, however, his grin faded and he breathed a sigh.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," he said. "That really didn't feel as satisfying as I thought it would. She certainly deserved it, but she was already hurt from her fight with that Tombstone thingummy. Just didn't seem fair."

"I can't believe she managed to kill him. I never saw him, but I heard he was a real monster."

The pair of them walked along the dim passage in silence, Quincy checking his map now and then to make sure they were on course for the library. Finally, Jolice spoke again.

"Why'd you bring me along? I'm sure Hector would have been positively jumping at the chance to smash a few more heads."

Quincy smiled. "No doubt he would. I just thought you needed a little break from it all."

"I really shouldn't have said that to Mum," Jolice said sadly, "but all the same...I still can't believe she just is so blinded by love, or whatever it is, that she refuses to see Vincent for what he really is and actually pled with us not to chain him up with the rest."

"Well, I guess all I can say is, just be thankful you've got parents to be annoyed at." It wasn't meant as a scold or a lecture, just a gentle reminder.

"I, I suppose you're right," Jolice said awkwardly.

Silence reigned once more as they neared the library. Once they reached the first hidden entrance, Quincy glanced through a gap in a disguised bookshelf. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, and there was no sign of anyone. Together Quincy and Jolice wandered around the perimeter of the library, checking each sentry point without success. Then, as they were making the last leg of their patrol, they noticed one of the doors had been left ajar.

"That's odd," Quincy whispered.

They peered through the crack in the door, and Quincy promptly leapt backward with a gasp of alarm. Two mice lay in a crumpled heap in one of the aisles, their throats gashed open, blood pooling beneath their bodies. He and Jolice hurried into the room, the haremaid clutching a paw to her mouth as though she might be sick.

"Oh 'Gates," she whimpered. "Thomas, Cassandra..."

The door closed with a sharp snap. The hares' heads turned to see Agatha striding calmly down the aisle toward them, her paws toying with a long dagger.

"See, I knew Quincy had to be behind something like this," she crooned, "but I'm surprised you've shown your face, Jolice. Not had enough of a beating, have you?"

"You horrible creature," Jolice sobbed. "You've killed them!"

The rat looked entirely unconcerned. "Of course I have. Wouldn't _you_ if you were just sitting there reading a book in peace and two beasts suddenly came running at you, swinging clubs?"

"But they were your bloody fellow servants!" Quincy cried. "You knew them!"

"Yes, and speaking of knowing," Agatha snarled, her eyes narrowed to slits, "I know exactly what you're up to, and I'm afraid I can't allow it to continue."

Quincy was dumbfounded. "But you gave me the chance to go to the breeding room in the first place. You, you helped me go behind Jeremy's back!"

"Yes," the rat said, passing the dagger from paw to paw. "But don't forget, it is my duty is to protect the lives of my servants. I can't let a few upstart breeders rebel against this castle, you know. After I've dealt with you, I'm going to tell the Professor of your plan. And I will be the first to tell him, because Jeremy doesn't know!" she cackled, her eyes glinting dangerously.

"So that's it?" Quincy growled. "You helped me and you killed these mice just to win your idiotic competition with _Jeremy_?"

"Jeremy's weak!" Agatha hissed. "He's always been weak, and I've been the only one to see it! The Professor may have chosen him to be Head Servant over me because he was created first, and from the lineage of the treasure hunters, but lately he's quite lost his touch. Thanks to your friends, Nallmian and Saveaux, he is even weaker these days, and I plan to crush him once and for all! The Professor will finally know that I am his most loyal servant.

"I just have to deal with this little obstacle first."

She took a step forward, crazed determination stamped on her face; it was a look so eerily far removed from her usual sedateness that Quincy couldn't suppress a small shudder. The hare planted himself squarely in front of Jolice, unarmed and unafraid.

"Stay back, Agatha," he warned.

The rat lunged.


	83. Blackout

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 81. Blackout  
**

_by Saveaux  
_

"…and we're too young to see."

_What? What are you talking about?_

He turned. "Oh, nothing, just musing aloud." He paused. "You really should turn around."

Listening to the figure, he cast a glance over his shoulder and saw…

He was smaller than the others. Each litter had a runt, but even by those standards, he was lacking. Still, the young one may have had a chance were he not burdened with his other defect; the newborn could not speak.

Newtspeech is not a complex language, but if a mother's offspring were to survive past the one-year mark, communication was key. The mother heard his first near-mute pleas for food and gave the young one two weeks at most.

She was very surprised when he outlasted several of his brothers. For, although his voice was weak, his ears were strong, and he was able to listen and comprehend every word she told him. One evening, she took the young one out to a lake overlooking the ocean, his first time sighting the sea.

Crouching close to her child, she whispered, "Saveaux, are you sure you're all right?"

The young one blinked. That was not his name.

"Fff…iiinnnne," he croaked in a voice that emanated not from his throat but all around him. The young one's eyes widened; something was very wrong.

His mother continued to speak with a voice not her own, using a tongue he didn't recognize but somehow understood, "Are you positive? Because he really-"

Saveaux crouched on the floor. Several paces away was Biara, finished tending to an injured breeder, now leaning against the wall, nursing her sore tail. Saveaux had seen what Quincy did. He felt somewhat- no, that was wrong. He felt entirely responsible.

_'Twas not ready for what I told him. Far be it from me to decide what information others can and cannot know without going mad._

But that was just the point; he could not decide what others should and should not know. Therefore, he had to tell Quincy. He had no right to prevent the hare from finding out the truth. Yet, in telling him, he wondered, had he called down an ill-suited fate upon Biara?

"What happened to killers must be punished? Make up your mind already!"

Saveaux cast a venomous glance over his shoulder.

_You shouldn't be here. This is not how it happened._

"Oh, right, silly me. Guess I picked the wrong scene."

_Then kindly make your exit!_

"Alright, alright, no need to get fussy about it! I'm on my way, but take care; there's a storm blowing."

The winds blew like the breath of a leviathan, tossing about the trees' branches, ruffling the surface of some shrubs and entirely upturning others. He cowered in his tree trunk, hugging his knees as though they were his mother. She had been gone for a long time, about several seasons it had to be. They had gotten separated; he'd treaded too close to a strong current and began to float off. He tried to raise his voice to call for her, but it was futile; she could not hear. Part of him wondered if she had heard, but didn't want to.

He throttled the thought, tried to shove it away before it overtook him but it was too late; he began to sob heavily into his knees, jarred away from them only by the sound of something gigantic scraping against the shallow river leading to his lake.

Something heavy hit against the door. Biara and Saveaux turned; the noise sounded again. It was as though a battering ram were striking against the timbers. In between the loud percussion, mingled voices could be heard.

"How well is that door re-enforced?" asked a shaken Desmond.

"Veronica, Elton, get to either side of that door; the barricade won't hold. The rest of you, take up arms and stand in front of the door."

Biara crossed away from Saveaux, taking up one of the many spears that were being passed out among the breeders.

"Saveaux…" It was obvious she wanted to say something, but she swallowed the words and finished, "You'd better get near the back of the group. It'd be easier for you to slip away unnoticed if things go wrong."

He nodded. Biara grabbed a second spear and tossed it to the newt, who caught it clumsily, almost tripping over himself and the weapon. Again, just beneath the surface, unsaid words lingered. The marten turned, crossed to the third line of breeders; the words drowned.

Saveaux ran to the rear, ducking behind the cover of the first four lines just before the doors finally gave despite Veronica and Elton's efforts. Wide open, the doors may as well have been the portal to Hellgates; on the other side, with much of the remaining castle staff behind him, was Jeremy, his skin burnt, pock-marked and gouged, a glazed left eye complimenting the missing ear on his right.

"Now, then, this is a clear violation of our agreement," he said to the dozens of spears and clubs and other weapons pointed his way. "We give you all comfortable shelter within our grounds, only asking you to provide us with new staff every now and then and what do you do? You take the side of prisoners, defy your punishment, vandalize the castle and its staff and now, threaten to kill the head servant. I'm…afraid, I have no choice but to ask you all to leave."

Jeremy gestured to the hall with stretched arms. There was silence, the nervous shuffling of feet and weapons in between.

"Leave. Exit this room now, and the most you'll have to suffer through is exile from this castle."

"But…we actually want to leave," said a breeder.

"I know. And I want you all gone. Quite intriguing how the compromise works, wouldn't you think?"

"What about the guests?" shouted Hector.

"Very good question; they, of course, shall remain here until they carry out the Professor's orders. Only one may leave. Whether or not they or the Professor decide which one shall live is all up to them."

"What a jerk! Can you believe this guy? Doesn't even know how to die properly; we've tried to kill him, what, five times altogether? Nice job with the mirror trap, by the way."

The newt groaned. He stared at the book with narrowed eyes.

_This is all wrong._

"In what way? Isn't it exactly how it happened?"

_Well…yes, I suppose. However, your constant interruptions were not in the original draft, nor are they conducive to a coherent story._

"Fine, then; edit me out. You have a pen, doncha?"

He looked down at his right hand, spying a quill. With savage strokes, he began to blot out the incorrect sections, but stopped as he noticed his ink was running a peculiar shade of red.

"Saveaux, are you all right?"

Paws seized his shoulders. He felt his body shaken strongly.

"Saveaux? Saveaux! Saveaux!"

He gasped, tried to open his mouth to tell them that he was fine.

"Saveaux!"

But the constant shaking stole his breath. He was throttled ceaselessly until his greatest desire, greater than that to breathe, was for the shaking to stop.

He continually shook the body, not sure if and when he should stop. He nearly flew two feet in the air when it began to stir and sputter. The newt dove behind a nearby rock, eyes peeking over top to see the body try to bring itself to its feet, but, pained by the attempt, settle for simply sitting up. It looked around, causing the newt's blood to run colder than usual when its gaze stopped at the rock.

"Hello?" the spiny creature rasped. From its voice, it appeared to be male. "Anybeast ou— "

The male creature was consumed in a fit of coughing and had to lie back once more.

At length, the newt crossed out from behind the rock. The creature's eyes were open. Suppressing his fear, he stole closer until his black eyes were boring into the creature's brown only two feet away.

"Did you…save me from the wreck?" Speaking was clearly laborious for the creature. The newt didn't know exactly what he was saying, but he understood when the creature began to gesture from the lake to himself. The newt attempted to state a "yes" in newtspeech but, when unsuccessful, replicated the creature's gesture, hoping he would understand.

The creature smiled. "Thank you. My…my little sav-oh!"

The spiny creature gave a gasp and collapsed. The newt seized his shoulders; he had to get this creature out of the sun.

Saveaux ran through the tunnels. He was headed for a clear room well suited for his purposes, he was sure. And yet, he thought he recognized the broken torch holder to his left from several turns ago when he had tried to slow the squirrel by doubling back.  
Light steps echoed from behind; Saveaux shot for cover.

"No use hiding; it's inevitable I'll win," Jeremy's winter chill of a voice called. "I know that you are nearby-"

"Saveaux?" read Isaac.

The newt nodded rapidly, smiling. The gesture was so comical that the hedgehog had to smile in kind.

"I think I understand. You took the name from our first encounter, no?" He rubbed his temples, jarring his glasses from his eyes for a moment. "You pulled me from my ship, I asked if it was you who had rescued me, you said yes…and then, I said, 'You're my little sav' and gave a gasp and passed out. You thought I said Sav-oh!" he chuckled.

The newt lowered his head, his brow furrowing.

"Nnnnn-ammmmme…b-a-dddd?" Saveaux gurgled.

"No-no, my friend, it's a wonderful name. It was just that, that day, what I was trying to say was, 'you're my little savior' But, really, it is a lovely name."

Saveaux beamed. "T-hhhhh-an-k…yoooo-oo."

"And you opted to use the archaic spelling. Very impressive. You are progressing well…Saveaux. I'm proud."

He reached across, grasping the newt on the shoulder supportively.

She reached out, holding the newt's shoulder tenderly.

"Are you positive? Because he really-"

Her paw suddenly left his shoulder. There was a gasp.

"Saveaux, your ear!"

The newt felt the side of his head inquisitively, pulled his hand away and up to his eyes to see…

After staring at Rhea for half an hour, no doubt contemplating what Saveaux had promised him, the hare finally spoke, though his voice held the quality of one speaking in order to keep his mind off of things rather than speaking just for the sake of it.

"Why is Kima here?"

Saveaux wrote, 'I'm storing her body away from the servants' grasp. Before she died, Kima requested that I "not let Falliss eat" her. This led me to conclude that he has been stockpiling the bodies in a larder somewhere upstairs.'

"I'll make him pay."

Saveaux turned his head, walked over to the hare. He patted the hare on the arm and wrote, 'It is true that the professor deserves as much; he should not be allowed to continue to live unpunished for his actions. But, Quincy, heed this; I do not want you to break your vow out of rage.'

"It's not like that at all. Beasts are dead. I want to make sure Falliss pays for that."

The newt looked the hare full in the eye. He was sincere, that much Saveaux could tell. Still, he suspected that, somewhere, his drive to bring Falliss to justice was more out of a personal desire, and one could only speculate what path such behavior would lead the hare down once he escaped the castle.

Nevertheless, he felt he should impart his theory to Quincy on how best to deal with the owl.

'Falliss is intelligent, but like any other creature, when his weaknesses are pointed out, he may be inclined to anger. In such a state, he will be unable to respond to threats rationally. Here is what you must tell him,'

He wrote what Quincy should say. Finished, he turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" asked the hare.

Saveaux stopped, wrote his answer, 'While monitoring Desmond, I discovered that he stole some items from Biara's medical pouch. I can only assume that at least one of the items was poison. I must confiscate it before he is able to use it.'

"Again, I say; you are all free to go, save the guests."

Through the crowd, Saveaux could see one of the breeders lower his weapon and begin to cross to the door. There was a sound of impact and the breeder's body was sprawled on the floor, Hector standing over it.

"Nobeast leaves!" proclaimed the mouse. "We no longer serve the whims of Jeremy, the Professor or anybeast else! This fight ends now."

Saveaux immediately thought of the hemlock. He drew the pouch from his belt, staring at the contents. The newt knew what he must do. Dropping his weapon, he dashed for Biara's medical bag, scooped it up and threw a randomly selected vial at Jeremy. Crying out from the glass shattering against his leg, the squirrel turned just in time to see the newt give him a very rude hand gesture before disappearing into the watcher tunnels just behind.

Jeremy was Falliss's right claw. While the owl cowardly secluded himself in his quarters, the squirrel went about fulfilling the professor's orders to their grisliest. By revealing himself here, at the lead of a servant army, the head servant probably thought he would ensure their victory. Saveaux would prove him wrong. Appearing here in person gave the perfect opportunity to eliminate the squirrel. With his number two and most proficient fighter out of the way, the path to Falliss would be clear.

Saveaux could hear Jeremy in pursuit, his ragged breathing echoing down the tunnels. Yet, he also heard something else. The newt strained his ears to listen.

"-trauma from the fight. I can only ima-"

Saveaux shook his head, staving off the pressure that had suddenly appeared.

"Tired?"

_Yes...no, not yet. Only…it hurts. Only a little. That's all._

"Take a deep breath. Start again from wherever you want."

The newt nodded. He closed his eyes, breathed…

"Saveaux, you're crying." said Isaac. The hog was on his back, several layers of blankets stacked atop his emaciated frame. Each breath was labored, moist.

"Yo-oo...g-g-oooo." the newt sobbed.

Isaac shook his head. "Now now, don't talk like that. Think of all the time we had together, how we laughed and played, how I taught you and you eagerly accepted each bit of knowledge. Saveaux…I don't know if I say it enough, but I am proud of you. Had anybeast else rescued me, I'm sure…I would have passed from this world…much quicker. You are…as a son…to me."

The newt tried futilely to wrap his arms around the hog. "Noooo-ooo…gooo-ooo…nooo…l-l-leeeav-e…Sav-oooooh…l-onnn-e."

"Saveaux…you and I have read enough tales…to know that when friends die, they never truly leave their companions. They…watch over them…until they meet again." Isaac frowned. "Think of it this way…think…of all the time…you have left…think of all the friends you have yet to meet."

The newt groaned. Isaac grasped Saveaux's shoulder with a weak paw.

"Saveaux…smile for me…please."

Shuddering, his eyes overflowing with tears, the newt did as he was bidden, his mouth curving up in a quaking smile.

"There you are…good newt…my little…Saveaux."

Isaac stopped breathing. Saveaux was alone.

Ahead was where the tunnel finally met the castle interior. Jeremy slowed his pace; having underestimated the newt one time, he wasn't planning on making the same mistake. The squirrel crouched down at the tunnel exit, checking the way for trip-wires or other traps. Finished, he stood up and walked over the threshold, keeping his composure until something leapt onto his back and he felt a sharp, stabbing pain where his neck met his shoulder.

Saveaux had hidden atop a cabinet set just to the left of the tunnel, directly against the wall. In Jeremy's blind spot, the newt launched himself off the dresser and onto his back, plunging the syringe he had procured from Biara's bag into the squirrel. Inside the syringe: a mixture of the hemlock with his own saliva as solvent. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he should have done this a different way, but dashed the thought immediately; he had access to no other armaments save a spear, and with that he was clumsy and would have been too far away from the squirrel to be sure of an accurate stab. This was the most efficient, most secure method of attack.

Jeremy began to shake his back, claw at the amphibian perched upon it. The assault left large gouges in Saveaux's thigh and upper arms, but he continued to hold on, forcing the plunger of the syringe down. He wasn't going to let go until the entire contents were pumped into Jeremy's blood stream. Several gouges and scrapes later, the squirrel changed tactics; he began to run headlong for the far wall. For a moment, Saveaux stopped, perplexed as to why he was doing this. Two feet from the wall, Jeremy turned, slamming the newt against it. Dazed by the impact, it was all Saveaux could do to hold on, pushing the plunger down as he was rammed against the wall continually, smashed between Jeremy's back and hard stone. Saveaux felt the pressure on the plunger; it was all the way down. Jeremy gave one last convulsion and collapsed.

Battered, Saveaux rolled off of the squirrel. It took three attempts to stand before he finally managed. By then, he heard steps echoing down the tunnel and turned, syringe raised in defense, to see Biara crossing the threshold.

The marten looked at the dead squirrel and then to the nearly-collapsed amphibian.

"Saveaux, are you all right?" asked Biara.

"Fff…iiinnnne," he croaked.

She reached out, holding the newt's shoulder tenderly.

"Are you positive? Because he really-"

Her paw suddenly his left shoulder. There was a gasp.

"Saveaux, your ear!"

The newt felt the side of his head inquisitively, pulled his hand away and up to his eyes to see blood. Without warning, his legs gave away, his body embraced the floor.

He was lying on his back. Above, he could see three creatures standing over him.

"He's…he's not…dead, is he?" The first voice sounded like Desmond.

"No. Not yet. Must have incurred massive head trauma from the fight. I can only imagine what he's seeing right now."

There was a pause in which, because he could not clearly see, Saveaux could only speculate Desmond shot Biara a confused glance.

"When your head is injured like that, it alters perception radically. Beasts who have massive, fatal head trauma often hallucinate, start talking about things that happened in the past or else complete rubbish."

"Is there anything you can do for him?"

Another pause.

"I already offered, back when he was responding to me. He refused and instead insisted I give him his notebook, let him write."

Saveaux could then feel his right hand moving away ceaselessly at the journal, almost independent of his mind. He could feel the shape of every word that was said being transcribed onto the paper. The feeling ceased for a moment as somebeast pulled up his hand, turned the page, but he was soon back to writing.

"Hello. Me again."

Saveaux's vision cleared only over the image of a figure who hadn't previously been there, the same one who had continually appeared in all of his visions since the accident. He recognized the figure.

_You're…_

"'Fraid so."

_But…Nallmian, how can you be here?_

The stoat shrugged. "It's _your_ brain; you tell me. I suppose you want to ask me if I'm a spirit or just in your head, yeah?"

Saveaux nodded.

"Too bad. I dunno that either. But…" his voice grew more serious, "I do know that you don't have much time left."

_I'm dying._

Nallmian nodded.

_That much I gathered._

He heard a growl escape his throat, accompanied by somebeast tenderly stroking his arm.

"You lead a long life, didn't you? Full of meaningful things?" said the stoat.

_Things perhaps, but not meaningful._

"Oh, come on, lighten up! I'm sure there's a lot for you to be proud of."

_Yes, there is much. I came to this castle, learned how to hate and lie, tried to kill one of my friends and accidentally wound up succeeding in killing another. Why shouldn't I be proud? It was all pointless!_

"Hey-"

_Name one meaningful thing I've done. Do it._

"You killed Jeremy."

_Ah, yes, more murder. Clearly, that means I am absolved!_

Nallmian looked at Biara. "You might have saved her."

Saveaux approached the marten as she was nursing her tail. He stood there, upturned head, sagging shoulders, until, finally, with some courage, he said, "Ha-loooo…"

Biara nodded without turning.

Saveaux took a breath, added, "S…sss-o-ooor-y."

She looked down at the newt, smiled artificially. "There's no need. It was a simple mistake. At least now, you see that there isn't anything wrong with me.

Saveaux shook his head.

"No-oo..s-s-ooor-y."

Biara cocked her head to one side, ears slightly lowered. "What?"

He presented her a folded note. She read it, 'Quincy knows.'

Slowly, she looked up from the paper and opened her mouth to speak, but stopped as something struck the door heavily.

_Such good that might be. Even I don't know if I did what was right there._

"And you gave Quincy a weapon."

The words from the note began to echo around him.

'Falliss,  
You seek to know everything and that is what will be your undoing. You continually ask "why," and obsess over the answer, yet you do not see where this will lead. Down and down you spiral, each "why," leading to another and another, and each time, the answer to each requiring you to give more and more of yourself away, so that you slowly change from the beast of science you were into something sub-creature, a perverted voyeur more interested in the heinous acts required to find the answer rather than the answer itself. It's already happened to some degree. It will get worse. Down the chain of why's you go until, you will finally realize, you reach the one "why" that yields no answers, because it is unanswerable. And, too late, you'll look up on the path you've tread and ask, "what was it for?" And, at the bottom of your pit, you will see your work for what it is; pointless. Pointless research from a pointless creature trying to find meaning in his darkness. 'Gates save you.'

_Only words. I've no idea how effective those will even be. More likely, it will take much more than that to sway Falliss._

"And you were a friend to a dying scholar."

_…'tis true. But see how I have fallen since then, see how I have tainted that by what I have done at this castle. And I will leave here and they will but mourn me for a moment before moving on, as though I were never here. I have seen them do it; I am guilty of it myself._

"Does it really matter? Saveaux; you lived. For what it's worth, you _were_ here, on this planet. You had an impact."

The newt meekly nodded.

_Then, I suppose, 'tis time to die…what is it like?_

"Do you really need me to tell you when you're about to find out?"

_No, I suppose not. Give me one moment further, though; there is but one more thing I must do._

Saveaux's finger wrapped against the journal until Biara looked upon it. Slowly, words formed, words meant for the three final guests.

'Though I leave now, I hope it not too soon, that I am not departing before I may yet be able to help you all. And so, I give you final words; do what you will. Behave how you best believe you should. Do what you must to live. Give yourself to whatever whims you will. But know that with every decision you make you must live, every burden you must carry until you are like me. Take care, friends.'

Saveaux felt himself standing though the pressure of the floor on his back hadn't left. He followed Nallmian to the door, crossed the threshold, closed it behind him. Far away, he could feel his right hand write the closing to the book Falliss had promised him.

'Exit Saveaux.'

end of round seven.


	84. Project Dinner Party

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

start of round eight.

**Chapter 82. Project Dinner Party  
**

_by Stonewall  
_

_I am the game, you don't wanna play me  
I am control, no way you can shake me  
I am heavy debt, no way you can pay me  
I am the pain, and I know you can't take me._

~

I had hoped to sort through my notes and thoughts to form them into and official document after sometime of reflection and setting the facts straight. Unfortunately, circumstances being as they are, it seems it would be wise to put my findings to paper now, should the future be less accommodating. And so, I give to the world at large, an analysis on my experiment, codenamed Project Dinner Party (see "On Species and Morality" for details as to the theory.

Now, where to begin? I have made mention of my opinion as to moral development and cultural aspects elsewhere, so there is no need to reiterate. Perhaps I should start by saying that the experiment was undergone for more than sadistic pleasure. Despite my findings that individuality and uniqueness were inherent to all creatures, I was able to deduce one common denominator in all beings: Death, either the receiving of or causing of it. With such a force applicable to all, I was truly interested in seeing how individuals reacted when confronted with it point blank. As pointed out in "Species and Morality," given different upbringings and backgrounds, the reactions of any group would be infinite in their diversity. And so that became my focal point: to revive the survival instinct that all possesses and reduce a handful of personalities to one denomination.

The question then, of course, became which individuals I would use as my subjects. At first I dreaded I would be forced to use local villagers; very good for a "slice of life" analysis, but altogether very dull. No, I desired beasts with eccentricities, personalities, anything that would make for intriguing interaction with their fellow specimens. Thankfully, Jeremy informed me of a Mr. Obadiah Tussle, a vole who specialized in odd jobs, who often passed by the Mossflower border. With some patience and luck, we were finally able to make contact with Obadiah, and requested that he document such interesting creatures as he was able to make contact with in his travels. Details of how he went about doing this are, of course, unknown to me, but in the end, Obadiah supplied me with the information I needed.

And what information! I was provided with three fair sized journals with biographies, observations, conversations galore! How I wish I had been younger, and could have seen half of these creatures for myself. But, sadly, for the sake of a fluid experiment, I was forced to choose only ten creatures which piqued my interest.

Kima caught my attention quickly, for it is not often one hears of wildcats operating outside of regality or nobility. Despite her being of vermin race and a gambler, Obadiah made note that she was really very cheerful and optimistic, a very un-regal personality. Her belief in her own luck intrigued me, for the presence or absence of luck is ambiguous at best, and Kima's faith in it might have affected her performance.

I was worried that Lady Rhea's participation would be impossible to garner, as her husband (I'm sorry, her fiancé. Mr. Tussle made a mistake in his notes) might forbid her traveling alone. That was what made Rhea's case so interesting: she was in a position of power, yet Lord Morramel was the one in control. What would she do if left to her own devices?  
After deciding on Lady Rhea as a participant, I had to acknowledge that Lord Morramel would insist on giving her an escort, the presence of whom might be difficult to remove after. Therefore, I chose to include a Salamandastron hare in my experiment. Originally, I thought that the inclusion of the typical Long Patrol soldier would provide tension among my vermin guests, but the documents on Quincy Tulep provided me with an altogether different sort of hare. He had been a promising young fighter, yet with his own will decided to become a pacifist. This contrast in skill and personality was begging to be put under strain, and I won't deny my hope that I could crack Quincy's decorum.

I was still taken with the idea of including a creature who wholeheartedly embraced a black and white view of morality. Flynn, it seemed, was just the beast I was looking for. She would provide a threat to the vermin guests, but be blind to possible danger from her woodland counterparts. That, at least, was the theory. I was curious to see if this could be shaken.

I must beg pardon for alluding to a stereotype, but vermin knowledge of healing and medicine is often lowbrow at best, relying on voodoo and other such nonsense. Naturally, I was surprised when I encountered Biara, a marten with incredible medical professionalism with a basic understanding of surgery. After intellectually crawling above the norm, would a desire to heal overcome any vermin traits of violence? I intended to find out.

Desmond was an amusing enigma, and living proof of my theories that woodlanders could embody less than desirable traits. A womanizer, arrogant, well off, sly in his own fashion, potential for devious behavior, and yet was accepted by society because of his species and family name. When placed in a difficult situation, would he maintain his selfish manner, or was there a potential goodness in him due to his being a woodlander?

Looking back at my studies, I realize that I haven't spent as much time as I should analyzing cold blooded creatures. Perhaps that is what drew my attention to Saveaux, a newt who could not only read and write, but was intelligent enough to correct Mr. Tussle's shorthand. Having discovered a sentient amphibian, perhaps the only one in existence, I felt obliged to include him in my study (Note: Saveaux's muteness was only made clear to me after his arrival).

I wanted to include Raine if for no other reason than to witness her behavior firsthand. Obadiah's notes on her painted an interesting picture: a former warrior, who had killed her brother, and believed firmly in a guiding force that controlled her actions (there was also mention of apparent symptoms of madness). She was to be my wild card of the bunch, as I had no true idea as to what her influence would be.

Mention should be made, I suppose, of my two guests who failed to arrive. Lord Whitefire was a beast used to giving orders and being obeyed, and I wanted to take him out from behind a desk and see how he coped. Captain Javik was a bright beast, unassuming and obedient, and I was curious if his soldierly conduct of obeying could be reversed to that of taking command. Alas, we shall never know.

And so, my test subjects were selected and sent for. Naturally, the invitations varied in type and approach, and a good deal was based on improvisation on behalf of my servants. In preparation, I saw to the improvement of the passage system of the walls (an aspect the castle's previous owner had generously built in his stay), and left most of the hospitable preparations to Jeremy and Agatha.

Finally, the date of arrival came, with most everything in order. One by one, my guests arrived, with two notable exceptions. Lord Whitefire sent a substitute in the form of Captain Nallmian, and posing as Captain Javik was another fox who, Jeremy informed me after dinner, went by the name of Sootpaws. After seasons of planning, I was irritated by receiving two specimens not only did not desire, but two that I knew nothing about. For integrity's sake, I shall provide my first impressions.

Nallmian's presence in the experiment was as an antithesis to many of the other guests. He was not fond of woodlanders, as Flynn was not fond of vermin; he desired to be in control, as did Rhea; he preferred direct, possibly violent, solutions as apposed to Quincy's compromising. I was curious to see how he would avoid becoming the central target of aggression.

Sootpaws, to put it kindly, was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Hapless and not of a controlling type, he was probably the closest guest I had to being indifferent to species stereotypes. I will forever wonder how he came to assume Captain Javik's identity.

I intentionally let my guests dine without me in order for them to develop relations with one another; interaction of differing personalities was essential, in order to see with whom alliances and animosities would form. It should be noted that, despite a lack of assigned seating, vermin and woodlander were grouped on opposite sides of the table.

And then came my own appearance, and the explanation of my experiment's rules: to reiterate, only one of the guests would be permitted to leave the castle. It was delightful to physically see those who I knew only by reputation. How I wish art was in my resume of talents, so that I could document the difference in expressions and body language. I will not go into great detail as to the conversation, but will rather focus on the point of the experiment, which was now in play: how differing individuals react when placed under extreme pressure with an incredible possibility of death.

As I expected, Flynn and Nallmian, the two guests most acquainted with violent lifestyle, took advantage of the armory on the main floor and seized various weapons. And yet, to my surprise, they proceeded to shut themselves into their rooms and stayed on the defensive. I had thought that Flynn would have taken advantage of the license to kill, as she had shown no verbal restraint against the vermin guests; the same goes for Nallmian, who had been openly against being situated in the same proximity as a badger and hare. Despite reigns of civility being removed, both opted for self defense, rather than obliging their violent wishes.

Interesting interaction also went on between Kima and Rhea. After dinner, the two both agreed that escape was a preferable option to death, and intended on assisting one another to meet that goal. What would the great Lord Brocktree have thought of a badger and wildcat working together? Which leads to the question: why was Rhea fine working with Kima? She was under no pledge of non aggression as Quincy was, and given her strength and size advantage, could have easily slain any vermin guest she desired. The answer lies in Kima herself, who, if a gambler by nature and vermin by species, possessed a cheerful personality, incredible optimism, and in turn showed no hostility to Rhea. Kima, in short, was not a threat, and therefore negated any need for action on Rhea's part. And in turn, with the badger not inclined to proceed with violence, Kima had no reason to either. With a common goal in mind (escape through non violent means) two species traditionally at odds were inclined to work together.

The same sort of mentality also occurred between Sootpaws and Quincy. Naturally, having been invited on the basis of peace, Quincy was brutally shocked to discover the situation he was in, and took solace in a friendly relationship with Sootpaws. For his part, I doubt Sootpaws had any true comprehension as to what was going on, and accepted Quincy's generous behavior. In an unspoken agreement, two social misfits found comfort in the presence of one another during a time of strife.

The reactions of all succeeded in proving one thing, however: there was no attempt at violent behavior, a large sense of melancholy, and no feeling of pressure. There was a danger of the guests becoming relaxed, thereby defeating the purpose of the experiment. In order to let them know how serious their predicament was, I reluctantly had to order the death of one of the guests myself. Perhaps still irritated at the two unexpected arrivals, I decided that the victim should be either Nallmian or Sootpaws. With Nallmian's presence a promise for discord, he seemed more likely to provoke reactions from the others. Sootpaws lack of wit meant he would probably take no action himself, and given his unthreatening demeanor, would not provoke interesting reaction. Therefore, I decided Sootpaws had to go.

As it turned out, any action on my part was unnecessary, as Sootpaws would killing himself by accident the next morning. While this in itself was not overly surprising, Flynn's presence at the time of death was intriguing. Despite her conviction against vermin, the demise of one as innocent as Sootpaws had a profound affect upon the otter. Out of all the vermin in the castle, presumably Sootpaws wasn't the one she believed to be guilty of murdering her Skipper, and that he died before, say, Nallmian, seemed to provoke Flynn to believe that maybe not all vermin are deserving of death.

Now, when the news was broken at the breakfast table, there was natural suspicion that the woodlander Flynn had killed the vermin Sootpaws. This would furthered Nallmian's reluctance to work with any woodlanders (more on this later). And yet, there was a general concession that at least an attempt at escape should be tried. With a way out still theoretically possible, the pressure was not yet great enough to compel the guests to act drastically.

In order to search the castle, the guests separated into groups of three: Quincy, Desmond, and Flynn; Kima, Raine, and Rhea; Nallmian, Saveaux, and Biara. I had hoped to avoid potential development of factions, as it inhibited the chance for individual decisions and interactions, but perhaps it indicates the notion of safety in numbers, even when your partner might kill you. Still, the interaction within the groups is worth making mention of.

It is ironic that the group consisting entirely of woodlanders contained the least unity. The three personalities were destined to be at odds with one another. The impetuous, dogged behavior of Flynn; Desmond's aloof and superior attitude; and Quincy's persistence on cooperation and pacifism (and, no doubt, at least some suspicion as to whether or not Flynn killed his new found friend). What we have here, then, is proof that being part of the same social grouping does not indicate a necessary desire for getting along, nor provides a set of morals that all must abide by.

In the forming of these groups, Nallmian admittedly cheated in order to be with Biara. In lieu of any romantic interest (if there was any, exhibits of it were never shown), the reasons for doing this were to a) avoid being paired with Rhea or Flynn; to be united with a fellow vermin. In Nallmian, I believe, the idea of species grouping was most strongly imbedded. From the very beginning, he displayed fear of Rhea, despite any visible aggression on her part, and although he shared a common goal of escape, refused to work alongside Quincy. On that note, Saveaux possessed the same anti-violent sentiment, yet Nallmian had no qualms with dealing with a newt, who, if not strictly a vermin, was not a woodlander. A quick background check on the stoat reveals that he has, for most of his life, fought against woodlanders bitterly, which would account for this bias without basis.

My curiosity about Biara's ambiguity towards healing and killing was answered as she and Nallmian took great pleasure in torturing my Bernard servant (note: both servants tortured by the mustelids were woodlanders. Coincidence?). She had assisted in healing the ailing Kima and Saveaux, but now that she was in a bind, she proved capable of taking a life without regrets. Survival, then, was more important than morals, when placed in dire straights.

Rhea and Kima having already created an agreement of peace, the introduction of Raine into the alliance did not agitate the truce. Here was the perfect example of creatures operating together, species notwithstanding, so long as no one creature was a threat, or deviated from the common goal. Despite Rhea being of a higher social background than either, she refrained from imperious behavior, even declining to don the tiara found by Kima (note to self: compare Rhea and Desmond's behaviors). Raine, although a former warrior, did not exhibit any animosity towards Kima, perhaps due to the same trauma that had caused her to throw down her sword in the first place. There is a trend I can see between some of my woodland guests: despite past encounters with vermin, often resulting in death, there is not an incessant desire to continue killing. The desire for peace and cooperation is strong, even among those formerly dedicated to its destruction.

It was during their searching that Kima first showed signs of feral behavior. Upon encountering the body of the Bernard servant (recently killed by Nallmian and Biara), she took great pleasure in examining the blood and touching the dead body. This change in demeanor was unexpected, but perhaps can be explained. Kima, to my knowledge, had not undergone a violent trauma, such as Quincy or Raine, nor had been situated in an environment which would numb her to stress, such as Nallmian and Flynn. In short, she was not prepared for such physical and mental pressure as she was currently under, and, as her rational mind could not function properly under such a culture shock, therefore reverted to less rational, feral behavior in order to cope.

This turn in Kima was not aided by the events after dinner, when Raine, after ingesting some tea offered by Biara, took a strange turn, and seemed almost in a daze upon leaving the table (whether or not this was the effect Biara had intended is a mystery). The mouse, upon finding Kima accompanying her, offered to race the cat, which triggered some sort of hunting instinct within Kima. She chased Raine into the library, where, before the wildcat could fully embrace her predatory skill, the mouse overbalanced a bookshelf, which fell on and killed Raine.

Off the record, I was sorry to see Raine go so early, as I wished to examine her eccentricities further. None the less, this second exposure to death would have further effect on Kima's case. Despite having been feral not moments before, Kima showed remorse and sorrow for Raine's demise. This rapid shift in moods indicated an unsettled mind, with a prelude to multiple personality development.

Now, back to other matters, specifically, my two mustelid guests. While Nallmian (almost blindly) trusted his vermin team, Biara seemed impassive to the ideas of loyalty, breaking into the stoat's room during his absence. While the exact reason is unknown, it can be seen that respect of privacy was not on our doctor's varying list of morals. Earlier in the evening, she had seen to the aiding of several other guests, including Rhea and the now suspected killer Kima. These actions serve to stress the marten's strict adherence to the rules of the medical profession: heal when you can, but avoid getting emotionally attached to your patients, as they might die at any time. Ergo, Biara was not inclined to feel any loyalty to her team, as their potential death was more than likely.

Nallmian, on the other hand, was obviously keener on the idea of working in packs, as that was how he made his living. And yet, due to his species bias, he could only find himself working with Biara and Saveaux (and later Desmond). Given his knack for strategy, I imagine if he had swallowed his pride and worked with the woodlanders, they very well may have accomplished something. With such a small bastion of support, the question became: if one of Nallmian's supports was removed, would he be forced to work with others?

I did not want to order the death of another guest myself; too much interference could mar the results of the experiment. But it was obvious that the pressure was still not being felt (Kima aside, of course). And for their part, Nallmian and Biara were torturing the Dustin servant. This abuse of my staff was not only highly inconvenient, but it was an example of aggression being pointed against the test's settings rather than its subjects. Therefore, I asked Jeremy to apprehend Saveaux and detain him in order to watch the reaction of Nallmian.

Now, normally, with any other vermin operating in a "me versus everybody" scenario, the removal of another beast would be seen as a boon. But Nallmian's soldierly bearing, with Biara's desire to heal her patient, created a desire to rescue the newt, a not unexpected turn of events. What was intriguing, however, was that they not only kept Saveaux's abduction more or less a secret, they enlisted Desmond to help them in their escapade. T which one might ask, why trust Desmond, and not, for instance, Quincy? A quick examination of character might be in order. Quincy's lifestyle and philosophy, especially being a former Patroller, must have seemed foreign to Nallmian, who, as we have seen, was not against using violence to get what he wanted; IE, he could not identify with the hare, and as such, was unwilling to work with him. Desmond, however, had no apparent dedication to peace and understanding, showed no surprise or empathy over witnessing the Dustin servant's death, and contained several undesirable personality traits. In other words, he exhibited mannerisms not common to the woodlander stereotype. And as shown with Saveaux, if Nallmian could work with vermin directly, he would work with those least connected to woodlanders on a personal level.

I would be lying if I said Desmond's solution for as a distraction did not amuse me. Only he would try to create a ball while facing potential death at all times. Admittedly, the drugging of my servants was unforeseen, but having already seen two of them tortured and killed, I had rather had enough of my staff being abused. Therefore, in order to increase tension and provide a small amount of protection for my servants, I thought to make use of Project Tombstone (incidentally, the weapon I had intended to give Lord Whitefire). In preparation for the evening, I had hoped to rekindle Flynn's ire by having Tombstone demolish her room; unfortunately, she did not come into contact again with either Biara or Nallmian, and therefore I am unclear as to her exact thoughts.

Brief notes shall be made of Desmond's ball. Desmond himself spent the evening trying to carouse with females, perhaps battling the stress of the situation by retaining his social norms. Rhea had enough insight to at least try the main door, and later discovered the body of Dustin in Desmond's room (this time, the reactions of suspicion and anxiety I wished to see would be forthcoming). Quincy continued to contact Jolice, the servant who brought him to my castle. Quincy's infatuation with the female was unique; as Jolice was the one who brought him, perhaps he viewed her as a last grip to the outside world. Perhaps being summoned under the pretense of peace, Quincy was simply unwilling to let that dream slide, and saw Jolice as a key to that goal. I really can't say for certain. After Tombstone made an appearance near the end of the evening, Flynn stepped in between the badger and Desmond; no matter how unlikable the woodlander, the otter felt the need to act the protector.  
Attention must now be switched to Saveaux, who was being held in the servant's quarters. Although having witnessed his mental fortitude, and Obadiah's further comments on the matter, the newt's inability to annunciate properly caught me off guard, and if not for witnessing his actions, I would wonder if this was the newt I had intended. And yet, being underestimated seemed to be how all the guests treated Saveaux. Biara and Nallmian, despite their attachment to him, treated Saveaux as an inferior, constantly talking down to him as one does with a child. Saveaux was hardly treated much better from the woodland guests, who, the next morning, would argue over the possession of Saveaux as if he were property. There is a common thread here: a newt, being neither vermin nor woodlander, is typically treated as incompetent or of lesser quality than mammals. Coupled with this elite point of view is an idea of the cold blooded barbarian, who, if not speaking or dressing as woodlander or vermin do, is inferior, even when one possesses the brains of Saveaux.

Discovering that Saveaux had obtained a dagger to deal with Nallmian was particularly enlightening. He harbored anger against the stoat and his actions, although Nallmian never even perceived the potential danger; and yet, Saveaux constantly opposed violent behaviors. It seemed destined that one of these ideals would win out over the other.

Saveaux's rescue need not be recorded in detail, although Jeremy did receive serious facial burns, and Nallmian and Biara succeeded in killing more of my servants. Sadly, due to my servants being drugged at the ball, Jeremy and Agatha incapacitated, and the watchers focusing on the rescue and the ball aftermath, I have very little information regarding a matter of true interest. After leaving the ball, Flynn and Kima descended to the basement, and disappeared into the water cavern. As the cave is no more than the name implies, no engineering had provided for hidden walls within the room, and secretive viewing was impossible. Still, from what remaining watchers in the basement were able to tell, only Kima exited the cave, visibly shaken, but strangely without any blood on her, or any sign of a struggle. Further investigation would reveal no body on the cave floor, meaning that, if killed by Kima, Flynn's body would have to have been disposed of via the lake. The problem with that is the body would have to have been weighted down, or it would float to the surface, and Kima showed no signs of fighting the otter. The only other option I can see is that Flynn intentionally drowned herself, but I am then left with the unanswerable question of: why? She was not the kind of creature to be driven to despair over a tight situation (Mr. Tussle's notes made mention of her intentionally getting into trouble before). Perhaps her failure to locate her Skipper's killer drove her to madness (note: despite my claim of providing Flynn with the answers she needed, I really had no idea as to the culprit's identity). I suppose I will never truly know what happened to Flynn, and in that she may be proud; out of all my guests, she has successfully humbugged my research.

Mystery notwithstanding, I was getting the results I wanted elsewhere the next morning. Rhea had reason to believe Desmond was responsible for Dustin's death, and had told Quincy so. A woodlander suspecting another woodlander of murder was not something often seen, and Rhea did not seem to handle the idea well; the notion of a woodlander breaking an orthodox moral code seemed more distasteful than if the killer had been a vermin. The scene in the ballroom, I think, told the story better than I could explain. On one side was Rhea, Quincy, and Kima; on the other, Nallmian, Biara, and Desmond, with Saveaux more or less in the middle. Both sides contained members of both social groups, despite individual opinions of species. If species was not the determining basis of division, then perhaps character was. Both odd men out of each group possessed more in common with their companions than stereotype would concede. Kima was, for the most part, pleasant, helpful, and non aggressive. Desmond was haughty, quick witted, and devious in his own fashion. What's more, these groups were formed by the guests themselves, and in doing so, they proved that personality, and their compatibility with other beings, is more important that species alignment.

Now then, social restraints had been removed, but strategy seemed to dictate that if one guest were to act openly against another, they he or she would become the target of aggression. I had not recognized this flaw while planning; I had yet to free my subjects of regulations and formalities. The answer to this problem, however, was easily solved: give them a way to act out their aggressive thoughts without any chance of being caught. To this end, I told Agatha to inform one of the guests (as it turned out, Biara) of Tombstone and his wonderful ability to follow orders. Biara now had her own private weapon, and I wondered if Tombstone would be made use of. It would, but not the way I expected (more on that later).

It is ironic, in a way, that although I could record every move of creatures I had only known for four days, I was unable to detect any deviation in the Jolice servant. She had not succumbed to my brainwashing techniques at all, it seems. Or if she had, then the presence of Quincy and his constant digging at the original Jolice brought the personality back to the forefront. At any rate, her discovery of the breeding room incised her animosity, and forced her to put into action a plan of escape, which was to take place the next morning. What is interesting here is Quincy's absolute faith and trust in Jolice, despite the very easy possibility it could all be a ruse manufactured by myself or another guest. Quincy was the embodiment of the belief that coexistence between all was indeed possible, and practiced on that belief, no matter how irate or desperate he became. Perseverance of ideals, perhaps, is the term that best suits the hare.

Of course, these beliefs were about to be pushed to the limit. After witnessing two deaths and placed under more strain than ever before in her life, Kima finally surrendered to her primal instinct and assaulted Quincy. At last, I had succeeded in creating a life form akin to pre-civilized creatures! It could be done! Now all that was left was to see how this blank template could arrange it's own moral structure in an organized environment.

The attack on Quincy was not provoked, and yet the cat seemed to take thrill in the chase, and would continue to enjoy the taste of blood. Also, when confronted by Rhea, the cat, in her blood enduced stupor, seemed undaunted. Quick hypothesis can be made: pre-societal cats hunted for food in the form of fellow living creatures, not necessarily with "evil" intent. Their extraordinary senses and hunting prowess made them a force to be reckoned with among common creatures, and thus assumed a demeanor of superiority and nobility which they retain today. Their moral code, then, was formed like the old cliché, "might makes right."

I will now switch my attention to Rhea, who, after discovering the Dustin servant's body, seemed truly disturbed of Desmond's being a murderer. Upon confronting Desmond about the matter, Rhea at last exerted that regal tone of command which she must have used when in Salamandastron. The badger had not used it against a vermin like Kima (before she became a threat) or against her relatively common teammate Raine. Rhea only became imperious when dealing with an immoral, potential murderer, whether he be vermin or woodlander. This provided me with insight into the seemingly rigid moral code of badgers: at the end of the day, they are far more concerned with justice than species. Further evidence of this dedication to justice was Rhea's attempt to slay Kima after her assault on Quincy; once Kima became a threat, and only then, did the badger attack the cat.

But I've gotten ahead of myself. Saveaux once again proved himself a genius among newts by discovering the passages in the walls and the use of two way mirrors which my watchers were using to observe and report. This, of course, would inhibit my research immensely, but I shall continue on as best I can. Being caught, literally and figuratively, in between woodlander and vermin, Saveaux had no pre-decided radicalization as how to act; indeed, for all I know, this might have been his first long term exposure to contact with other creatures (which, of course, does not explain how he learned to read and write). In response to this, Saveaux kept his morals on a central axis as well. He had no love for Nallmian, and given the newt's size and unassuming demeanor, could have done away with the rest of the guests, had he chosen. And yet he begged with Nallmian that there be no more killing, even if it was against those who entrapped them. With this in mind, I feel safe in restating my theory that with no society or norms to dictate behavior, one does not feel obligated to act radically.

With knowledge of these tunnels, Nallmian had decided to finally act against one of the guests: the badger, Rhea. This did not surprise me, given the stoat's predisposition against woodlander, nor did his enlisting Desmond as bait, for reasons already mentioned. What did surprise me was that Desmond not only went along with the scheme, but in the end wound up killing Rhea himself, after the badger approached him menacingly. Given that Rhea no longer felt that Desmond was innocent, she must have exerted an aura of violent intent. For his part, Desmond acted in what he saw as self defense. If this is true, then I can draw further parallels between vermin and woodlander: one often hears of corsairs murdering their mates when it suits them. Now, with societal boundaries removed, it seems that nobles are capable of such things as well. It must be restated, however, that Desmond only stabbed Rhea when it appeared she was going to attack, just as woodlanders often resort to arms when they or their families are directly threatened. The vermin in the plot had intended to ambush and murder, and the woodlander acted in self defense. Even among one with Desmond's character, there seems to be ingrained thoughts within a species.

Which brings us to the morning of day five? Thanks to the efficiency of my watchers, I was aware of the escape attempt, and Jeremy was able to extract further details from breeder Vincent. Despite his animosity towards Nallmian, and a belief that Kima was Rhea's killer, Quincy still felt obligated to include all the guests in his escape; his strict adherence to the rules he had created for himself still applied. Even as Jeremy broke up the group and dragged Jolice away, Quincy still asked that no one be killed. But what truly proved that Quincy's decorum was all but unshakable was that he kept his composure while Nallmian berated him fiercely after the guests had reassembled. It showed that given the right strength of character, a creature can deny any impulses, even a Salamandastron hare whose former occupation was fighting.

Even with escape no longer viable, my guests could still maintain at least some sense of union, so long as the goal remained universally desired. As news leaked out of Kima's turn for the worse, it became apparent that she was a problem that needed to be dealt with. This brought together an unexpected duo in the form of Desmond and Biara, who informed the squirrel of Tombstone, and made plans to use it against the cat. For her part, as she became more isolated, Kima developed a triple personality: thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. Her unleashed feral side tried to take control, while her socially accepted side tried to quell the violent urges. The desire to retain peace, then, was still quite animate; rationally, Kima still wanted to hold on to those social boundaries. Even with a mind laden with primal instinct, there was a desire to adhere to the rules of the world. Kima was making personal choices, the same of which can be said of any beast who operates on a good/evil dynamic.

After Nallmian made a scene at breakfast, he returned to his group, planning an escape attempt of his own, oblivious that even his group was no longer a safe haven. Saveaux, of course, was already showing animosity to the stoat, and Biara, as we shall see, seemed to tire of her role as sidekick. Keeping the focus on Nallmian, in spite of his throwing down the gauntlet to Quincy, his plans still focused on my servants. He could have easily gotten rid of both the hare and Desmond, but chose not to. I feel this to be important, as it shows that vermin, even horde captains, do not resort to killing at the drop of a hat.

The final touch to proving Nallmian's complete trust in vermin rather than woodlander came that evening. Perhaps curious as to the symptoms of his night terrors, Biara drugged Nallmian, who upon waking found the marten calmly assessing his condition. Rather than assaulting Biara, Nallmian fled in embarrassment to the lounge. Now, given the way the stoat had argued with Quincy over a botched escape, I had thought an intrusion on his physical body would have sent him over the wall. But to his credit, Nallmian's stern belief of loyalty had been a steadfast part of his character. Could I break his decorum as I had with Kima? Would an educated being with military experience be pressured into reverting to more animalistic traits? I ordered one of my servants to make malicious advances towards Captain Nallmian, knowing full well that the stoat would make quick work of it, and to inform him that Biara was being attacked as well. If the pressure had finally gotten to the stoat, he would abandon his sense of social obligations, and would leave Biara to her fate. And yet, he still came to the marten's aid. Although his participation was unexpected, I still learned from Nallmian's presence in the experiment: Not all vermin are dull witted, vengeful, hot headed killing machines, and conscience can be found even in a professional torturer.

My interest was now turned to the bizarre relationship between Biara and Desmond. They had jointly agreed that Kima had to go, and were working together to bring it about. Considering they had hit it off poorly during the first day, it was curious that, as they discovered less and less personality difference, the animosity between them diminished. This strange turn of events was akin to Nallmian's need to rescue Biara, despite their run in. Curious to see how far this relationship would extend, I ordered Jeremy and Agatha to "slip" information of a sick Helena, thereby uniting the two over yet another issue (Biara's need to heal, and Desmond's infatuation with women). Would either of these former enemies be compelled to work together?

Before I continue on, I need to comment on something very important. When I gave my ultimatum on the first day, there were two ways the guests could react: by killing one another, or not. By now, with the pressure most certainly being felt, the guests were still inclined to use murder only as a last resort. Biara and Desmond were working together, Nallmian was still focused on the servants, Kima was desperately trying to abstain from killing, and Saveaux and Quincy were making plans to rescue my breeders. I will stress that I was not so concerned with forcing my guests to kill one another, but with what their reactions would be if given the chance to save themselves. And despite their varying, and often at odds, personalities, I found my guests trying, for the most part, to not kill one another, even when doing so would ensure their own safety. Even when Desmond went to Tombstone with the intention of sending him after Kima, the squirrel eventually decided to send Tombstone after me instead (a useless gesture. Having foreseen this possibility, I had made Tombstone attack whoever made a threat against me). If nothing else, this proves that all creatures, in spite of species and histories, will not always rely on killing to obtain what they want. In other words, woodlander and vermin can be reduced back to a common moral alignment, in this case of mutual nonviolence, and therefore were, at one point, on the same moral page. Any further habitual developments obviously would change this, but nonetheless, I had succeeded in proving my theory that vermin and woodlander, if obligated, would act the same way.

On a brief note, Saveaux worked quite well with Quincy, and contained no sense of blame for the botched escape attempt the previous day. It seems only fitting that the two most peace loving creatures would finally make a connection. I regret that I had not accounted for spying on the breeding room, but thanks to a peek or two at Saveaux's notes, I was more or less able to put the pieces together. Once again, it is a tribute to Quincy's strength of character that he also intended to help those who had been under my control.

Kima remained my only guest who handled the stress of the past few days poorly. Her split personality was torn about killing the other guests, thereby surviving, or retaining her social norms. Now, how her case finished was imperative, for she alone had forsaken her old mannerisms and gone feral. If she embraced her killer instinct, or if she kept her senses, would dictate which was the preferable way to live, given the choice. Upon leaving her room, she went to Biara and Nallmian, although what she intended to do was not clear until the last second. Finally, she decided on attacking, and inflicted fatal wounds upon Nallmian, but after fleeing the room, she did not appear to take any pleasure from her actions, and even seemed remorseful. Although she was mentally free to act as she pleased, the act of killing still did not seem like the preferable choice from her rational side's point of view.

I had wondered if Biara's medical professionalism could be shaken by Nallmian's death, given the closeness of their company, but she seemed unmoved. Saveaux, on the other hand, seemed rather distraught; I attribute this to a confused state of mind, torn between his own original desire to do away with Nallmian, and the knowledge that the stoat had indeed rescued him from captivity. It is reasonable to believe that the newt's perception of justice, at first presumed to be neutral and un-radical, started to lean more to forgiveness than condemnation. He knew of Desmond's murder of Rhea (after overhearing Biara speaking of it), and yet endeavored to rescue the squirrel after Tombstone appeared on the scene. I flatter myself to say my desire to recreate the moment where beasts chose their moral structure had been somewhat successful. Although not entirely a blank slate, Saveaux was encountering society for perhaps the first time, and was developing a moral code as he went along. Perhaps after seeing so many die, he decided that corporal punishment for crime was not absolute, and that there were other ways to deal with criminal behavior.

Slightly off topic, Jeremy and Agatha reacted rather poorly to stress of watching over so many guests. Upon learning of Quincy's plan to contact the breeders, Jeremy (without consulting me) ordered that the entire room be locked down to prevent interference. Agatha, in turn, let slip to Quincy of Jeremy's plot, and the hare, with Saveaux, hurried to breeding room to attempt a rescue, only to be sealed in with the rest. I regret that I had no watchers in that area, for what occurred during their incarceration is a mystery to me. They would manage to find a way out, though Saveaux was not initially among them, as far as I can tell.

While all this was going on, I was dealing with other matters. Helena succeeded in giving Biara and Desmond false directions, leading them directly into my claws. Now, having seen these two develop something of a relationship, and given that they hadn't killed one another yet, I wanted to see if they could be compelled to save each other. Each was rendered unconscious and brought to separate parts of the castle, and left with a message saying that the other was in danger, and only they could save him/her. As it turned out, six days was not enough to completely overcome personal qualms, and neither Biara or Desmond tried to help their counterpart. So much for romanticism.

I suppose I should explain why I investigated the Biara/Desmond case personally, and why I have so little information of exact events at this stage. Thanks to Nallmian's escapades, various accidents, and general sniping within my tunnels, a good deal of my watchers are dead, and my quality servants are decreasing in number even as I write. What information I still have to record will be brief.

While I was dealing with other matters, it seems Kima found her way into my personal chambers. Upon seeing me, I was pleasantly informed of my imminent demise, due to my consumption of Raine's body (however cultured an owl might be, even I cannot resist mice as a staple to my diet). I mention this in order to point out that Kima still abhorred the idea of eating a fellow creature. This would have further relevance upon receiving news as to how Kima died, via the servant present at the time. Saveaux had captured Kima, with the intention of curing her (note: our newt has come a long way in his concept of justice), and would expose her to blood to find if she could control herself. This resulted in Kima's multiple personalities to come to surface, and unlike with the Nallmian incident, Kima was trying desperately to control her killer instinct. After Saveaux was forced to stab her in self defense, the rational, shall I say normal, Kima drove the dagger further into herself so as to avoid hurting the newt. In dying, Kima chose her socially tamed, peaceful side over her limitless, free side. The key word there is choice; the average creature, when presented the option of total anarchy, has chosen to adhere to the society that they have created. I might offer some thanks to Kima, for being the only of my guests to supply me with insight as to how and why beasts originally formed the species stereotype and upheld it: it was all a matter of personal choice.

That was early this morning, the seventh day of my experiment. As previously mentioned, my information network is strained, and is rapidly ceasing to exist. What I believe is occurring is my remaining guests, and what servants they have enlisted, are abducting my remaining servants and watchers, likely in hopes of rendering me in a state of personal helplessness. Potential results: A) They intend on leaving me alone in my castle, or they are coaxing me to come to them.

The final observation I have to make is that all four guests have now assembled, and are finally pooling their efforts to achieve escape, something they should have done on day one. Lest the magnitude of what I have just written go unnoticed, I shall explain further. A Salamandastron hare, a mute newt, an uptight squirrel, and a semi sadistic marten, none of whom had even heard of one another seven days ago, are currently sitting in a room, working together with a common goal, and most important, are not killing one another. If I might lose all sense of humbleness, I have succeeded in doing what no one else has ever done. I have gotten two woodlanders and two vermin to cooperate in peace, by their own accord, and in relatively respectful coexistence. My experiment has been a complete success: I have united the two social stigmas and proven that they can coexist.

There is, I think, little more to say. I shall finish with a few conclusions:

-Violence is not an inherent trait to either vermin or woodlander.  
-Character is more important than species in deciding class relations.  
-The acceptance of social norms occurs due to the choices of those in said society.  
-Acceptance of stereotypes is more likely to occur due to ones upbringing, rather than it being an inherent trait of species.  
-Woodlander and vermin can overcome social stigmas, and act as individuals rather than archetypes.

Now that my life's work has become completed, the question now becomes: what now? In depriving me of my servants, my guests certainly have my number; at my age, operating alone is difficult. There is one hope of escape, however, via my window. My wings are not young, but I feel I could probably glide for some distance. Far enough, anyway, to find a village somewhere that would take in a poor old owl.

And yet, you know, I can't help but wonder if I went downstairs? There are a few scenarios that I can envision, but none that I see as an absolute truth.

And like any good professor, I always enjoy discovering the unknown.

-Professor Falliss.

~

_Try to figure out what my move's gonna be  
Come on over, son, why don't you ask me?  
Don't you forget there's a price you can pay  
'Cause I am the game, and I want to play_


	85. The Beginning of the End

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

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**Chapter 83. The Beginning of the End  
**

_by Quincy  
_

_...I'm the lion and the lamb._

-------

As Agatha charged, her dagger seeking Quincy's flesh, the hare ducked low and bulled forward at the last second, ramming his head into her abdomen. The rat staggered backward with a snarling wheeze and Quincy shook his head to clear it. He dropped back into his defensive stance as the rat closed in again, twirling the dagger with a certain barbaric elegance.

"Well, I definitely underestimated you, Mr. Tulep." Her words flowed like poisoned wine. Quincy took a few steps backward down the aisle as Agatha crept forward, sharp eyes seeking any kind of opening or weakness.

"Back off, Agatha!" Quincy growled. "Jolice, get out of here."

Quincy felt the haremaid's paw touch his back reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere, Quincy."

"You might want to rethink that, Jolice," Agatha crooned. "Your friend won't be able to save you. He can't work up the nerve to even save himself. He's of no use to anyone."

_"The vermin, laddie, they'll use empty words to try and get in your head, they will. Oh, anything to catch you off your bally guard,"_ the Sergeant's voice barked in his head. _"Bear in mind that those are the words of a coward, and they only come out of the mouths of opponents that know they're no match for you, wot!"_

It was his first day of training all over again, and Agatha was the recruit he was paired up with. It was strange how rapidly all those lessons and instincts came back to him. Agatha was as weak as that veritable leveret he'd trounced that day.

The rat frowned when she saw Quincy only smile grimly in reply to her words. "Enough talk," she growled. "The Professor must hear of this plot, and I'd best not keep him waiting."

They were near the end of the aisle now. Quincy's footpaws became entangled in Jolice's and he fell backward, Jolice stumbling back and grabbing the bookshelf behind her to keep her balance. Agatha dove at Quincy, and his footpaws shot upward instinctively, the combined momentum sending the rat sailing past him. She rolled to her footpaws with a kind of agility Quincy hadn't expected of her. After a moment's pause to gather herself, she started for Jolice. The unarmed haremaid gave a panicked squeak and fled down one of the rows, Agatha hot on her heels.

_"No!"_ Quincy roared, scrambling upright and dashing after them, but by the time he got to the end of the aisle he'd lost sight of them. All he could hear were the sounds of scurrying footsteps and sharp breaths echoing in the cavernous room. Quincy ran down aisle after aisle, fearful of shouting Jolice's name lest he give Agatha the advantage of knowing his position. There were scarcely any candles amongst the many rows of books, limiting the hare's visibility. There were no sounds of a struggle so far, so that meant the rat hadn't caught up with her quarry.

Quincy turned a corner down another row, his heart leaping into his throat when he nearly ran headlong into a shadowy figure.

"Quincy! It's you! I was so..."

"Ssh!" the hare shushed Jolice, even as tremendous relief flowed through him. "Where's Agatha?" he whispered.

"I don't know," she whispered back. "She fell behind and I've been looking for you ever since. I was so scared she'd gotten you."

The hares jumped at the sound of a tremendous _crash_ nearby.

"What in the blue blazes was that?" Jolice gasped.

Several more loud crashes sounded, reverberating off the walls and making the floor shudder, until—

_"Move!"_

Quincy dove back into the aisle, pulling Jolice along with him as one heavy bookcase toppled and fell into the other, continuing the deadly domino effect until the last in the section had fallen.

"Thought I'd take a leaf out of your friend Raine's book!" Agatha's voice cackled. "It certainly did the job for her!"

Jolice looked to Quincy for their next move and as the hare returned her gaze, realization struck him like a thunderbolt. Agatha would never stop. She would just keep attacking until either they were dead or she was. Even if they ran, she'd come for them again eventually. Fear tinged the haremaid's wide eyes. He couldn't let her die. Quincy made up his mind; he grabbed Jolice's paw and the pair tore up the aisle, back toward where the bodies of the two mice lay.

"Go back into the hidden passage," he instructed as they ran. "I'll be—"

Agatha leapt suddenly from one of the rows, tackling Quincy around the waist and knocking him to the ground. Quincy sensed rather than saw the dagger flashing down at his head and rolled aside, sparks flying as steel met stone. No matter how much he squirmed, Agatha clung to him like a limpet, her blade flailing dangerously. Quincy managed to grab her paw and twisted it hard. The rat shrieked and the dagger clattered to the floor. Quincy cried out in agony as the rat leaned in and sank her teeth into his shoulder.

With another shriek she released Quincy and rolled off, clutching her side; Jolice had stabbed her with the fallen dagger. Both opponents scrambled upright once more. Agatha was breathing heavily, but her savage glare still shown brightly with battle light.

"Please, Agatha," Quincy pled with her. "Just quit now and walk away, I'm begging you. You're not going to win."

"I _am_!" she spat. "I've waited all my life to be at Professor Falliss's right wing, and you're not going to ruin it for me!"

The mad glow in the rat's eyes said quite plainly that there would be no reasoning with her. She charged once more, claws slashing blindly and bloodied incisors bared. Quincy grabbed her shoulders and swung her sideways, flinging her away from him with all his might. The rat fell, her head cracking heavily into the corner of a fallen bookshelf. She slumped to the floor and did not rise.

Quincy stared at the body, his blood stinging like ice water in his veins. It took him several moments to notice Jolice shaking him and saying his name over and over.

"Is she...is she...?" he gibbered.

He took a step toward her, but before he could inspect the body further, the library doors slammed back on their hinges and Jeremy stood framed in the doorway, flanked by two ferret servants. Quincy realized that the whole castle must have been able to hear the racket they were making.

The disfigured squirrel took one look at the dead breeders, Jolice and Quincy, and Agatha's body, nodding slowly in realization. Quincy had never seen a more furious expression on his grotesque face.

"This...nonsense...ends...now!" he snarled through gritted teeth, waving a paw at the ferrets. "Get them! I have more important matters to attend to presently."

The squirrel stalked off as the two ferrets started for Quincy and Jolice.

"Run for it!" Quincy shouted, and the two hares bolted back into the passageway, not bothering to close the door in their haste as their pursuers gave chase.

Quincy didn't know where they were headed as he tore through the passages willy-nilly, hearing Jolice's panting close behind him, but he just knew he had to get away. Fortunately, the two hares had the ferrets drastically outstripped when it came to speed, and before too long they lost them.

* * *

That night, the scene in the armory was very different indeed. The door had been smashed in, several breeders were wounded, and although the servants had backed off upon hearing news of Jeremy's death, Gregory and a few of the other captives had escaped in the process. The breeders had done their level best to rebuild the barricade in front of the door, though it most likely wouldn't hold for long if the servants attempted another direct assault. Saveaux's body had been wrapped in clean bed linen and laid in an ornamental chest in one corner of the room. There was a general feeling of gloom hovering in the air.

Quincy sat with Biara and Desmond, eating a late dinner after Biara had patched up his wounded shoulder. He'd told them what happened in the library. Desmond seemed surprised that Quincy had it in him to do something like that, but Biara took it all in stride.

"Well, there really wasn't anything else you could do, was there?" she insisted. "It was either you or her."

"I guess," the hare sighed.

He supposed he was glad to be alive, and even happier that Jolice was alive, but all the same, he didn't know how both of them could be so nonchalant about it all. He wondered if Saveaux had felt the same after killing Jeremy. Back when he'd been shown Rhea's body, Saveaux had told him not to break his vow, and now he had. The hare felt overwhelmed with guilt; Saveaux would never know what he'd done, and he'd gone to his grave believing Quincy was of stronger constitution than he really was. He couldn't decide if it was better or worse that way. Eventually he found that thinking about the newt was too painful and pushed him from his mind. He'd made his choice and would now have to live accordingly, as Saveaux had said.

Jolice approached the trio, wringing her paws distractedly, though she addressed Biara rather than Quincy. "Excuse me, Miss Sable?"

"Yes?"

"Well, it's just...my mum...Er, she's..."

"Well? Spit it out, please," said the marten impatiently.

"She's about to give birth."

Quincy leapt to his footpaws. "She is? Is she okay? What does she need?"

"She needs you to calm down, for starters," said Biara, getting up as well.

"She's not going to have it in here, is she?" Desmond asked, his face contorted in a disgusted grimace. "That could be rather...unsanitary."

Quincy scowled, but Biara nodded. "No, you actually do have a valid point for once, Desmond. It's not likely to be very comfortable here, either. We should move her if she's able."

"But where?" asked Jolice.

"I think Flynn's old room is the closest," said Quincy, taking his map out of his pocket and trying to ignore the fact that the very beast that had drawn the map had passed on. "We should be able to get there quite easily if we go through the passages."

"Right, it's settled. You two go help Althea, and Jolice and I will get Flynn's room ready for her. And no buts," Biara added sternly to Desmond, who looked thoroughly disapproving at being told to do something productive.

Jolice followed Biara from the room, as Quincy and Desmond went to find Althea. Vincent had set her in a chair and was clearly doing the best he could to keep her comfortable, but the harewife was sobbing in between winces and squeezing the living daylights out of her mate's paw.

"It...hurts..." she moaned rather unnecessarily.

"It'll be all right," said Quincy bracingly. "We're going to take you somewhere more comfortable."

Quincy and Desmond each seized an arm and helped Althea upright. Together they half supported, half carried the hare across the room and through the passages, Vincent following anxiously. It was slow going, but finally they arrived in Flynn's room. Biara had gotten as many towels and wash rags as she could find and was inspecting her tools to see which ones she might need.

"I figured that distrusting otter would have a few tricks up her sleeve," Biara said, "so I took the liberty of searching her room upon our arrival. Sure enough, she practically turned her mattress into a pincushion with a bunch of arrowheads. Small wonder she was so agitated, sleeping on the floor all that time.

"Lay her on the bed," she finished simply.

Together the hare and squirrel helped Althea onto the bed. Biara placed a wet cloth on her feverish brow.

"Well, what do we need to to next?" asked Quincy.

"Oh, I can take it from here," said Biara, placing a paw gently on Althea's abdomen. "Jolice will help me too, won't you?"

The haremaid nodded nervously.

"But..." Quincy began. "Are you sure you don't need..."

"Trust me," Desmond murmured, grabbing his arm, "this is not something you want to stick around for. She's given us an out; I say we take it."

At that moment, Althea unleashed an ear-shattering scream.

"Er, perhaps you're right," Quincy gulped, and he, Desmond, and Vincent beat a hasty retreat back to the armory.

* * *

The hours slowly ticked by. Most of the breeders, save the ones on watch, had gone to sleep, but Quincy was still awake, and Desmond mostly so. In another corner of the room, Vincent sat by himself, awake also.

"Do you think Biara knows what she's doing?" Quincy asked Desmond at one point.

"Mmph, wha...?" Desmond said groggily. He'd dozed off yet again.

"I said, do you ruddy well think Biara knows what she's doing in there?" said Quincy, annoyed at having to repeat himself so often.

The squirrel gave a great yawn and rubbed at his eyes, looking just as irritated that Quincy had woken him up yet again. "I don't know. Biara never said anything to me about delivering babes before, but I would assume that's all part of the healer...thing. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Fine," Quincy grunted.

The squirrel curled back up on the floor, pulling his blanket over him. Quincy was much too worried to sleep, and so he sat there in the dark, his back against the wall, listening to the snores of Desmond and the breeders. He wished Saveaux could still have been there. It was a sad fact that Quincy had preferred conversing with the newt far more than he did with Desmond, and Saveaux could barely talk. Saveaux was the one remaining guest he'd actually felt any sort of kinship to, and now he was stuck with Biara and Desmond, two beasts he felt like he was only tolerating long enough to get free of the castle.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but finally, what felt like an eternity later, the portrait door swung inward with a soft creak. Quincy looked up. Jolice walked slowly toward him, her face masked in shadow, holding a small bundle in her arms.

Quincy grinned as he rose to his footpaws. "The babe's here? How wonderful! Is it a..."

He fell silent when the haremaid drew nearer and he noticed the utterly blank look on her ashen face.

"Girl," she said in a strangled voice, staring at the tiny, sleeping harebabe in her paws as though she couldn't fully comprehend what the object actually was.

"What is it? What's the matter, Joli?" Quincy asked.

Jolice bit her lip. It was awhile before she was able to speak, though when she did it was in the same strained voice. "Biara said she did everything she could, but there was so much blood, she didn't know where it was coming from and she couldn't stop it..."

Quincy's face fell when he realized what she was saying. "No...Oh...no..."

Quincy put his arm around Jolice. The haremaid buried her face in his shoulder and wept bitterly, as the little leveret slept on, unaware of what cruel twist of fate had befallen her mother.


	86. Cave

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 84. Cave  
**

_by Biara_

The bleak silence hanging over the room was broken as Biara swept out of the portrait door. The pine marten was fairly spattered with blood from the waist up, and her eyes were hollow.

Desmond approached her. "What di—"

"Sod off," the healer snapped without slowing her pace. The look she gave Desmond made him back away fairly quickly.

Biara ignored Quincy's shocked expression and Jolice's tears. She was focused straight ahead, the botched operation playing itself over in her mind, taunting her.

She needed a drink.

Jaw set, the marten found herself slinking almost listlessly down the familiar path to the cellars.

The operation had been a complete failure. It shouldn't have been. There was surely something wrong with the haremaid. Biara was a fantastic healer, a professional. The hare had to have been sick.

The cool stones of the basement brought some ease to the healer's mind, but not much, and Biara hastened to her favorite keg of damson wine. Not bothering to bottle it, the marteness gulped down the dark liquor as though she'd suffered through a minor drought, eager for the sweet wine to take over as quickly as possible.

Biara slumped down on the stone floor, wincing at the pain in her tail. She rooted through her medicine pouch for something to refresh the bandage when she noticed the folded up note from Saveaux. _Oh yes, nearly forgot about that._ Despite her better judgment, curiosity compelled the pine marten to re-read it.

_Biara,_

Though you have refused it, my offer still stands. You know what I have seen, and because of this, I have come to a conclusion as to what I must do: I forgive you. Because somebeast has to.

Biara blinked, frowning. It didn't make sense. Saveaux was the one beast who had seen her for what she was, and was still willing to forgive her? It was ridiculous, illogical. Even more so than his asking to "save" her.

The marteness continued reading.

_Remember this, as I hope you will forgive me for what I may do._

Biara pondered this for a moment, before it struck her.

_Quincy knew._

The pine marten's heart gave a scary little jolt; she had forgotten. They had all been too caught up with Jeremy's attack, the death of Saveaux, and then the birth of the leveret (Biara scowled even more deeply at that), but what would Quincy do now? Surely he, like any good little woodlander, would seek vengeance for his dead Lady? And especially after Biara had killed Althea…

_I didn't kill her,_ the medic thought desperately. _She was weak, that's all._

The healer climbed painfully to her footpaws. She was able to take a few more gulps from the keg, but she couldn't help but see Saveaux's dark eyes, reflected in the liquid, boring into her. Biara looked away; it was horribly rude of the beast to haunt her like that.

The marten picked up the note again, glancing at it as though it were a puzzle. She couldn't get the newt's words out of her head.

_My offer still stands._

_"We can help you."_

"I don't need any help."

Biara shouldered her travel pack and glared at the wildcat standing across from her. Figures he would get in the way. The beast was so irritating sometimes.

"Biara, don't go," Legault implored. "You don't have to deal with this alone. I know you're not an evil beast."

The young marten snorted. "Tell that to Auntie Serra."

Legault looked down, guilt stamped on his striped face. "But… she just doesn't understand, that's all. If I told her, then maybe…"

"Forget it, Legault," Biara said. "Don't worry about me. This is for your safety as well as mine." She strode off toward the courtyard gate, but the wildcat beat her to it, standing firmly in her way. Paws akimbo, and usually passive eyes alight, Biara had to notice just how much he resembled his warlord father.

Still, the pine marten was clearly not in the mood. "Get out of the way."

"I will not! I will NOT!" He barked. Biara paused, taken aback. "You're always telling me what to do, bossing me around like I'm a pawrag. And now, you're just going to leave? I thought we were friends."

Biara felt her ears grow hot. "Of course we're friends," she said quietly. "That's why I have to go." She should have been gone already. There wouldn't be any fuss, and the marteness was sure that he could have forgotten about a killer like her easily enough. Why couldn't he just listen to her?

"I'm telling you," Legault said, "I—we—want to help you."

"And I'm telling you, I don't want any help." She shouldered past the wildcat none too gently.

"I can't believe you!" Acting on his anger, Legault lashed out, raking his claws across Biara's face. Although he was not yet fully grown, the wildcat was already strong, and not yet in control of that strength. The marten hissed as the thorn-sharp claws snagged right between her eyes, and recoiled, hunched over, momentarily blinded as blood seeped into her eyes.

Legault gasped. "Oh 'Gates, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—Biara, are you okay?"

The blood flooded through her senses, and the small voice roiling inside was so alluring… "Get out of the way!!" She shrieked swiping at the wildcat with one paw. Feeling her own claws sink momentarily into his soft fur, the whisper grew to a roar.

She gave in.

It was all so easy, so perfectly natural. The marteness' heart sang as her claws dug into his stomach, thrilled at his pitiful screams. "Try to help me now, Legault!" She sliced his throat open, flaying the skin over and over.

And then, as suddenly as the storm had started, it died down and Biara was sitting in the grass, the remains of her best friend matted in her fur and dripping from her claws. Her face drained suddenly; the incendiary blazing away in her gut died down, digging itself back into the same, dreaded hollow. She hated it. Her breath grew ragged in her throat, and she prepared to slice into the body again. It was all his fault, she'd kill—

Biara stopped. She had killed him. The marten recoiled from the mangled body. She sobbed and tried to stand and failed, staggered drunkenly instead. Wiping blood from her eyes, she glanced up and found a single guard staring as though she were a monster.

The marteness looked back at Legault. Because she was.

Biara looked down at the note, scrunched up helplessly in her paws, and smiled wryly. _I've been dead since the day I was born, Saveaux. There's no helping a weapon; just ask Tombstone._

The marteness yawned, a fuzzy indistinctiveness taking over. After a moment, she carefully folded the note and tucked it inside her medicine pouch once more. She attempted to stand, but was overcome by a hideous pain in her tail that doubled the marten over. Whimpering, she gulped down some more of the sweet wine before curling up in a ball, her medicine bag acting as an impromptu pillow. Just a small nap, and she'd feel worlds better. Shivering, Biara closed her eyes.

--

Biara wrinkled her nose. Somebeast was poking her and it was getting annoying.

"G'way," she snapped, swiping at the paw irritably. When it didn't stop, she opened her eyes to slits, seeing Desmond looking down at her. "What do you want?"

If there had been any trace of concern on the squirrel's face, it was quickly replaced with disgust. "Sniveling drunkard," he sneered. "I figured I'd find you'd come crawling back here."

The marteness clambered to her paws and nearly tripped on her cloak, using the barrel for support. "Take that back," she growled.

"Or what?" Desmond laughed mirthlessly. "You'll kill me? You seem to be very good at that. Shame you're not as good at, you know, keeping beasts alive."

"By the bloody claw!" Biara couldn't decide what was worse, the fact that Desmond was admonishing her, or that he was right. "You would be dead seven times over if it wasn't for me! Ungrateful little…" the marteness trailed off, digging futilely in her cloak pocket. Her eyes widened.

"Looking for this?"

Both Biara and Desmond whirled around (Biara nearly tripping up) as Gregory slunk out of the shadows, twirling the marteness' scalpel in his paws. "A pretty little toy, really."

Biara's eye twitched. "But.. that's my… how did you… gnah!"

Desmond rolled his eyes.

The male marten chuckled. "You were sleeping as soundly as a babe. It was easy enough to take it from you."

Some part of Biara realized that he was simply trying to make her angry, but she was too angry to bother paying attention. "Give it back," she growled. "That belongs to me."

"I'm afraid you've done quite enough damage, Miss Sable. You might have fooled the others, but I know about beasts like you. You poisoned us while we were in the breeding room, and according to my new friends," Gregory gestured to a rat and squirrel who padded forward to stand beside him, "you've done quite a bit of, shall we say, elective surgery."

The squirrel stepped forward, voice shaking with rage. "You killed Bernard," he spat. "chopped him up like a piece of meat."

"More precisely," said Biara with a crooked grin, "I broke his arm, gave him a few superficial lacerations and severed his vocal cords. There's quite a difference, you know."

Desmond interrupted before the squirrel could do anything further. "As interesting as this conversation is," he said with an arched brow, "Why didn't you just kill her in her sleep? Seems it'd be a lot more sensible than all this."

Biara sent the squirrel a glare. Who's side was he on, anyway?

"I was getting to that." Gregory nodded. "You see, we could have just killed you in that alcohol induced stupor—" Biara clenched her jaw—"but we figured it wouldn't be quite right after what you've done. You, and that includes you as well," he said, gesturing to Desmond, "you guests have ruined our lives. We were perfectly content until you arrived, and now we're facing exile and death.

"But that's not all—ho no! You had to go and make a merry time of butchering us along the way!" Biara was vaguely paying attention, but her eyes were focused on the scalpel—_her_ scalpel—being toyed with in Gregory's paw. "So, to answer your question, squirrel, yes; we still intend on killing her. But we're going to ensure she suffers just as much as we have."

"Oh splendid!" Biara exclaimed, clapping her paws together. "Now would any of you beasts like some tea, or did you steal that from me as well?"

Gregory sneered. "'Gates, you really don't know what you're doing, do you? You know what, Miss Sable? You're a terrible healer, and that's the funny thing. What good have you done for anybeast? Poisoned, killed; it's a wonder the hare babe didn't die as well." Biara's blade paw twitched and he sniffed. "Keep your tea, murderer; I'm sure it doesn't even do anythi—"

The male's breath was driven out as Biara, who had skimmed over the various intellectual counters she could have given, decided to simply tackle him.

"Get the squirrel!" Gregory gasped, stabbing indiscriminately with the stolen scalpel.

Biara bared her fangs, seeing the rat and squirrel advance on Desmond from the corner of her eye. Gregory kneed the medic in the stomach and tossed her cloak over her head, kicking her as she attempted to extricate herself. Biara flailed, catching the male marten a glancing blow that sent him toppling to the ground.

Rolling over, Gregory lunged and stabbed the medic in the shoulder with the small blade, but triumph turned to dismay as the attack barely even broke the skin. Biara tut-tutted. "Terribly sloppy." The medic neatly snapped his wrist and grabbed her scalpel as Gregory howled in pain.

Getting to her paws and quickly stowing her blade, Biara glanced over to see Desmond grasping a knife and hiding behind the keg. The rat was bleeding from the shoulder, and the squirrel servant had been knocked down, but there wasn't any point in prolonging the fight. The marteness gestured toward the stairs, and Desmond feinted left before dashing out from behind the keg in the opposite direction. Both beasts ran as quickly as they could for the staircase and didn't slow down until they arrived at the first floor hallway.

The two guests were allowed entry to the armory as soon as they were recognized by the breeder guards, and trudged inside, worn out and sullen. Quincy and Jolice, still wiping sleep from their eyes, looked up to see the arrivals, and Biara's ears drooped slightly. She supposed she would have to face her failure eventually.

_But first things first;_ The medic turned to face Desmond.

"Quite sorry, Desmond. I didn't mean for you to get involved… although," she added, "your knife play is improving remarkably." She cocked her head. "Are you injured?"

Desmond shook his head. "No. My arm hurts like hellgates, though...." He looked at the offending arm distastefully.

Biara dipped her head. "I'll heat up some water presently. Hold on just a second, and I'll be back to check on you."

Just as the marteness turned to find Jolice and Quincy, she noticed the two hares had already begun to approach her. She pawed at her scar, desperately trying to think of something to say. _Dreadfully sorry about killing your mother and all. By the by, I'm making Desmond tea; would either of you like some?_

Somehow, Biara didn't think that would make either of them feel any better.

"Are you all right, Biara?" Quincy asked, suddenly. "You look like you've been in a bit of a scuffle." His voice was hollow, as if the question had been more of a formality than anything else.

"Yes, I'm quite all right." The tall marten nodded. "Gregory and a few of the escaped servants attacked me, but I'm fine now. Anyway…" She glanced at the sleeping leveret in Jolice's arms and almost wished she had just saved the mother instead; woodlander babes were even more irritating than the adults.

The marten realized she'd been rapidly flexing her claws in and out anxiously and promptly stopped, clearing her throat officially. _If you want to keep your pelt, think like a proper healer, for the claw's sake!_ "Jolice, I'd like you to tell me if something happens to the babe that's out of the ordinary. Keep her warm and find some way to feed her properly. She's very vulnerable now, and even a minor infection could be fatal." Her ears drooped somewhat and she lowered her gaze. "I apologize, by the way. I… know it must be hard for you."

The marteness was about to add that such deaths were more than common, but decided against it.

Jolice looked to Quincy, who was fixing Biara with a hard stare. She sighed. "More than you know." Her gaze softened just a bit, and it was clear that the haremaid was fighting with her conscience. As an afterthought, she quietly added. "Thank you. I'll be sure to let you know."

The marten smiled. "Good. If you'd like, I could make you both some chamomile. At the very least, I can assure you that it will ease any physical aches and pains," she offered.

"Very well," Jolice said. Quincy, however, remained silent, staring at the pine marten with surprisingly cold eyes.

"Righto then!" The marteness made a hasty exit, more than eager to get away. At that moment, she was painfully aware of the fact that Quincy had been a former member of the Long Patrol. And hated her.

As the marteness prepared the hot water for the tea, she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder, and then at the remains of the hemlock in her bag.

And Biara considered.


	87. Do you know what I'm Seeing?

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 85. Do you know what I'm Seeing?  
**

_by Desmond  
_

"Your tea's ready."

Desmond accepted the steaming cup from Biara with a nod of thanks. He had given up questioning everything the marten gave him to drink; if she poisoned him, she poisoned him, and it was that simple. Using his tea to do so would be unlike her, anyway. She knew he would suspect that, since she'd done it before.

Then again, she _had_ gone off and gotten slobbering drunk, so maybe she wasn't as intelligent as he'd thought. Desmond mulled over it, his eyes following her about the armory as she brought tea to Quincy and Jolice. He blew gently on his drink to cool it and sipped gingerly, making a face; she'd sweetened it, but it was hard to disguise the bitter taste of the herb. It was certainly not poisoned, though, or at least not with anything discernable by flavor – the taste was identical to what she'd given him before to help with pain.

Biara must still consider him worth keeping around, then – or maybe she was just tired of having the beasts in her care die. His arm wasn't healed yet, after all, and it would be detrimental to her research if he should topple over dead before she was finished with him…

Desmond shoved the thoughts from his mind and cast about for something else to hold his interest; his eyes landed on a vaguely familiar looking book sitting forlorn on one of the empty chairs, and he reached for it, hefting it in one paw and examining the outside for identification. He found none, but a quick inspection of the first few pages revealed it to be a journal. Desmond quickly finished his tea and set the cup aside, flipping through the book curiously. It was immediately apparent that it had been Saveaux's – the spidery scrawl that filled the pages was too distinctive not to recognize. One of the others must have picked it up, he mused, and brought it back to the armory.

As a distraction, it more or less served its purpose; the style was quite dry, though, and Desmond couldn't finish half a page without feeling sleepy and bored. A lengthy word caught his eye, and he blinked at it, shocked to find that he had no clue as to its meaning.

"Pusillanimous?" He muttered, incredulously. "What in 'gates is _that_ supposed to mean? _'Further evidence of Desmond's pusillanimous behavior.'_ Rubbish." Slamming the book shut, he tossed it aimlessly away, stifling laughter when a squeak of protest met his ears. Turning to see which unlucky beast he'd hit, he wilted when he realized that it was Biara glaring at him angrily.

"Excuse me!" Her snarl made him shrink back in his chair.

"Sorry about that," Desmond couldn't stop himself from giggling nervously. "I didn't see you."

The marten frowned in warning and bent to retrieve the journal. "What have we here?" she murmured, opening it to a random page and scanning the page. Her eyes widened and she looked at Desmond. "Saveaux's?" she asked.

Desmond nodded. "No one else would write such nonsense," he said, as if by way of proof.

Biara irritably waved a paw at him to be silent and sat down a little way away from him, reading intently. Desmond, who resented being left out of anything, whether he wanted to be a part of it or not, crawled over beside her and read over her shoulder. Aside from the occasional unintelligible word or phrase, he admitted to himself, it really wasn't that bad.

The squirrel's ears pricked with interest when he caught sight of Nallmian's name on the page; it seemed ages since he'd even thought of the stoat, and he felt a twinge of guilt. The stoat had always been a nuisance, but it seemed a shame that he wasn't even remembered. As if to shake off his guilt, Desmond shook his head quickly and leaned closer to read more easily.

_Nallmian is dead. Were one to read my notes previous, one would perhaps conclude that this is cause for me to celebrate. I do not make merry. I am not proud that he is gone and quite in fact I mourn his passing, because, in reflecting upon my time spent with the stoat, I have concluded one vital piece of information; I was wrong._

---  
I had thought the stoat a villain. Surely one capable of murder, particularly of the most grisly, cruel and grievous sort, deserves that title: villain. Nallmian butchered the castle staff with little to no motivation other than personal pleasure, all the while verbally berating anybeast his fickle tempers happened to take a fancy to bullying. In addition, he personally threatened me with bodily harm should I reveal his actions to the other guests.

Yet…

Nallmian saved me. Quite often, to me he was kind. My work, when presented to the stoat, was accepted with the utmost gratitude and his usurping of Quincy's unofficial position of power, although partly for selfish reasons, was done also out of a concern for other's safety. This tells me, without a scrape of a doubt, that he had the capacity for good, and therefore obliterates my previous theory; a purely evil beast, if there is such a thing in this world, would be utterly incapable of any benevolent act whatsoever. By this reasoning, my previous theory is reduced to ashes; Nallmian was not evil.

And I attempted to execute him. I am ashamed.

Desmond yawned. "Skip a ways ahead," he instructed Biara; apparently, the marten felt the same sense of discomfort with the sentiments expressed in the newt's words as he did, as she gave no argument and turned ahead in the book. Both of them blinked, surprised to find their names at the top of the page she stopped at.

_Regarding Desmond and Biara:_

After attempting to remedy Kima's bloodlust – yet another failed plan ended in bloodshed to add to my generous lot, but there is more on that elsewhere – I discovered that Biara had taken Rhea's body for experimentation and research, which also leads me to believe that perhaps she played a larger part in the plotting of Rhea's murder than previously thought. Realizing that her ailment was far more progressed than previously assumed, I resolved to confront her as well as Desmond. Now, as I sit here with the opposition to the professor, after giving the pair a final chance to accept my help, I plan on expanding upon the situation of both these beasts.

Biara is afflicted with a, for lack of a better term, disease of the mind which renders her incapable of extreme emotion. It is possible for her to feel euphoric emotions as well as those associated with agony, yet, upon closer inspection, anger, happiness, affection, joy, despair – these emotions all appear muted in her countenance, the only exception being when I witnessed her inflicting pain upon Bernard, the first servant to fall victim to our foolish escapades. Yet, it is possible, nay, largely evident that she attempts to feel these emotions, and, furthermore, feel them without need to cause others harm. One need look no further than her profession to tell that she strives to do good in the world. Just beneath the surface, she is struggling to break though, I know this; I only pray that she will realize she needs assistance and ask for it before it is too late.

Desmond is a different matter. He too has committed heinous acts, most notably the murdering of Rhea. What's more, he has pursued all of these actions through his own will and not at the spurring of any psychological disorder or, inasmuch as I can gather, past trauma. Still, if I examine the squirrel with the same criteria with which I have examined both Biara and Nallmian, I see that perhaps these actions are not the whole of his being. Perhaps he too has the capacity for good; I was told that he assisted Biara in the killing of Tombstone when the safest action for him would have been to flee. In addition, it was Desmond who devised the distraction by which Biara and Nallmian were able to infiltrate the servant's quarters and rescue me without interruption from the remainder of the staff, this action not promising much personal gain either. Likely, there is more complexity to the squirrel than was previously assumed. Perhaps that is where these entire problems stem from, my constant assumption that I am able to determine a creature's character just through seeing one side of them.

I gave both Biara and Desmond letters, both more or less saying that I offered to help them in whatever way that I could but, should they refuse and continue to commit acts of violence for their own self-gain, I would be forced to take countermeasures. This was a lie; there were no countermeasures. There was nothing with which I could threaten them, for I knew that I would be unable to punish them. After all I have been through, if there is but one thing I have learned, it is that violence is rarely justified and even when it is, there are often - nay, always other paths. I felt that some sort of retribution would be the only way to convince them to act otherwise should they not heed my words, but in reality it would have been impossible for me to hurt them in any manner and still posses a clean conscious; I want to help them, not harm them, save them, not damn them.

Being so unable to carry out a consequence should my words be ignored, I more or less delegated the decision to Quincy, telling him that once we leave the castle, I shall not stand in his way of doing what he thinks is right. I did this because, at the time, I did not know the right course. Even now, I do not know. But I find myself wishing to retract those words, for perhaps I should stop him if he attempts to harm Biara and Desmond, perhaps it is the just thing to do.

The problem remains unsolved; the question is unanswered. Perhaps I will never know the correct ending of this tale.  
Biara snapped the book shut and quickly set it aside. Desmond looked at the marten's face, and she met his gaze defiantly. The squirrel broke the awkward silence first.

"He was…" Desmond stopped, unsure of what he wanted to say. "There was much more to him than I thought."

_He was bloody insane._

Before they could ponder it further, the door to the armory was flung open with unnecessary force. Desmond jumped and looked to see whom it was, eyes narrowing when he recognized the intruder as Gregory. He was completely unprepared, however, for the sight that followed; limping behind the marten, the rat that had attacked him was carrying the limp body of the squirrel servant, who appeared to be… Dead?

"I didn't think we'd killed him," he muttered to Biara, surprised. "I mean, I will admit that I seem to have a natural knack with weapons, but I'm not _that_ good."

She gave him a meaningful look. It said, 'Be quiet, or I will sew your mouth shut.'

Desmond, who had learned not to ignore warnings, silent or not, readily complied.

"Gregory," said Hector in surprise, as the beasts in the armory moved to surround the intruders. "What happened to you?"

Desmond's eyes flickered over the male marten, registering the beast's wounds. Biara had broken one of his wrists, which he had awkwardly bandaged and now cradled protectively to his chest, but otherwise, all the damage seemed to be superficial.

"It was them," Gregory growled. Desmond blinked; the marten was pointing straight at him and Biara with his good paw. "They attacked us – they killed Terrence."

Quincy was suddenly at Biara's side, staring incredulously at them. "I thought you said _he_ attacked _you_!" he hissed.

"He did," Desmond returned, frowning mightily. "And that squirrel – Terrence, or whatever he went by – was perfectly fine when we escaped. I mean, aside from a few scratches and bruises."

Quincy didn't have time to reply before Hector broke in.

"What do you two have to say for yourselves?" he raised one eyebrow.

Desmond and Biara exchanged glances. "This is obviously a set up," Biara declared, straightening her shoulders. "Allow me to set the record straight. I'm afraid Gregory and his friends were the ones to attack us – and we were lucky to get away when we did. What's more, the squirrel was alive and intact when we escaped; I wasn't aware that you weren't above murdering your own," she remarked snidely. "Still, nice cover."

Hector eyed her suspiciously. "How can we know you're telling the truth?" he snapped.

Biara sighed. "Let's assume for a moment that we did attack them. Now, if that were the case, then it would be apparent that we came out better than they did; why would we leave any of them alive, then, to spread the tale?"

Murmuring spread through the ranks of the escaped breeders.

"That's just what she wants you to believe!" Gregory burst out, scowling at them. "She's a healer, or claims to be – she knows what to do to make it look like she was the one attacked!" He strode forward, wincing as his broken wrist jolted. "They're dangerous. They'll get in the way of your plans."

Desmond coughed. "Really," he complained, "Enough of the theatrics." He ignored Biara's amused snort and went on. "And pardon me, but what possible reason could we have to attack you? I mean, aside from shutting you up. Although, now that I think of it, it might be worth it, just for that." The squirrel opened his mouth to speak again and then shut it quickly as Biara kicked him unobtrusively.

"I'll handle this," she murmured pleasantly, and raised her voice to be heard by the others. "There are two ways to settle this. You can either believe Gregory, or us. But regardless, don't you think we should really be focusing on Falliss?"

There was a pause. "She's right," Quincy spoke up, and Desmond blinked, surprised to see the hare defending them. "We're wasting time here."

An outraged cry came from Gregory. "You're going to let her go?!"

"Yes," said Quincy coolly. "And if you behave yourself, then maybe you can sit quietly in the corner, once she's done properly bandaging your wrist."

Gregory's eye twitched. "They tried to kill us!" he screeched, and, apparently feeling that further provocation was unneeded, leapt for Biara's throat, broken wrist and all.

Desmond, unfortunately for him, just happened to be standing more or less between them – and so, for the second time, he was neatly bowled to the floor by the male marten. The squirrel yowled when his injured arm was crushed under their combined weight and he retaliated savagely, knocking the marten off him with strength he didn't know he had (or perhaps it was just the fact that he jarred Gregory's wrist very badly that made it so easy) and then sinking his teeth into the marten's shoulder and refusing to let go. The taste of the marten's blood spurred his anger – it was so nasty.

Since he couldn't very well shout obscenities at the marten, he satisfied himself with digging his back legs into the beast's stomach and kicking sharply, ripping at the marten's tunic and fur. Gregory struggled against him, but without the use of both paws, he was unable to get the upper hand. Desmond growled deep in his throat and sank his teeth deeper into the marten's flesh, stiffening when he felt somebeast's paw on his shoulder.

"Desmond."

The squirrel snarled, but the sound was muffled.

"Yes, yes, I know, you don't want to let go," he recognized Biara's voice and vaguely caught the amusement in her tone. "But really, this is rather unnecessary. Gregory passed out about a minute ago – from the pain, I should think. That wrist must be excruciating."

With great effort, Desmond extricated his teeth from the marten's shoulder and spat on the floor, choking on the acrid taste. "That," he said, staring into Biara's eyes, "Was terrible."

A great hush greeted this remark, and Desmond's skin crawled at the sudden silence – what had changed in the room? Glancing around nervously, he noted that nobeast was looking at him anymore, which was always a bad sign…

"Yes, well, I'm not surprised," a sickeningly familiar rasp greeted his ears. "Squirrels are not, by any stretch of imagination, carnivores."

Desmond mentally groaned and looked to the entrance, ears pinned against his head. "Falliss," he said, rather unnecessarily. The owl stood just inside the room, pretty as you please; he must have slipped in during the commotion, Desmond realized.

"Desmond." The owl inclined his head graciously. "It's nice to see you, as well. You've been an intriguing subject, this last week."

"All very well," Desmond snapped, getting to his feet, "But what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be slinking around behind the scenes, taking notes and all that rubbish?"

"My notes are near complete, thank you for asking. And from what I've gathered, I thought you all might be looking for me about now – so I thought I'd save you the trouble."

There was a brief silence. Hector looked around incredulously at the still beasts about him, most of them still in a state of shock. "Is that it?" he exclaimed. "He's here! What are we waiting for?"

Whatever it was, Hector certainly wasn't waiting for it; grabbing a sword from its rack, he advanced toward the owl. "You should have killed me when you had the chance," he spat. "Because I will have no mercy on you. This is for all the lies you've told us – for caging me, once I knew the truth. You made a big mistake, Professor; the truth always gets out, one way or another." Without further warning, the mouse charged the owl, blade at the ready.

Falliss neatly sidestepped and struck with lightning-fast motion; Desmond blinked. One moment, there was a mouse with a sword, and the next, there was a headless carcass on the floor with a fallen blade beside it. The severed neck bled sluggishly, little red streams flowing down the cracks between stones in the floor.

The owl swallowed and clicked his beak reflectively. "Rather hard-headed," he quipped, and looked around with interest. "So, what are you going to do now?"


	88. This Bitter Pill

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 86. This Bitter Pill  
**

_by Quincy  
_

For a while, no one spoke. They all stood rooted to the spot, and the only movement was the blood seeping from Hector's neck, spreading outward in an ever-growing pool on the floor.

"H-hector!" Jolice gasped, shock stamped on her features as she hugged the leveret to herself.

_"Falliss!"_ Quincy roared. "You disgusting creature! You've committed your last murder!"

The Professor held up a wing, a stray feather floating to the floor as he did. "Spare me your speeches on morality, Mr. Tulep. I am not here to be bombarded with them. I am here simply to deliver a message."

"Well, go on then," said Desmond.

Falliss continued, "I am here to inform you that my experiment has almost been a complete success. However, there are still two loose ends to be dealt with, and I have grown tired of waiting. I shall give the three remaining guests until sunset to decide in some way, whether through duel, sacrifice, or some other means, which two shall die, and which one gets to leave the castle."

"You're mad," Quincy laughed mirthlessly. "What makes you think we'd actually go along with that, eh?"

But even as the words tumbled from his lips he gave Biara and Desmond an uncertain glance. Probably a lot of things would make the owl think that. Would Biara and Desmond really engage in a three-way duel with Quincy after all the obstacles they'd struggled to overcome?

Falliss's words cut across the hare's pondering. "I am afraid the rules have changed a bit. If more than one of you is still alive by sunset, I will order the full force of my servants to attack you. You see, your friend, Saveaux, was only partially correct. Jeremy was certainly a more active leader around the castle, and in killing him he has greatly inconvenienced me, but ultimately my servants still do as I command.

"You remember how I said that if the deaths did not occur as quickly as I would like them to, I would take the matter into my own claws? If you do not decide who must die before sunset, the servants will attack...and they will not stop until all of you are dead."

"All of us?" Biara asked, her arms folded across her chest and her expression inscrutable.

"Yes. _All_ of you," Falliss said, sweeping his wing broadly across the room. "Every male, female, and every tiny little child."

Numerous gasps arose from the breeders. Vincent made a strangled noise, his eyes wide, paws twitching. He looked like he was having some sort of mental struggle.

"Just what are you playing at?" Desmond sneered. "If you kill all of us, who will provide the next generation of your brainless little army?"

"Breeders can be easily purchased, Desmond," said Falliss, turning his eyes upon Jolice, who shuddered. "Besides, it is clear they can no longer be trusted. The castle must be cleansed of bad blood."

"What if we just decide to kill you instead?" asked Biara.

"Then it will be the last decision you ever make, and you will not even live to see sunset," the owl answered calmly. "If any plot, any attempt is made to direct your energies into killing me, my servants will attack at once."

Falliss finally turned his gaze upon Quincy. "Well, this shall be a most interesting dilemma for you especially, Mr. Tulep. Desmond and Ms. Sable here have had no qualms with taking lives, as they have already proven. Will you be noble and end up getting everyone killed? Will you sacrifice yourself, or do you believe that either of these creatures even deserve to be let out of the castle after what they did to Lady Rhea? Or...will you take matters into your own paws and seek your revenge so you may go free? Quite a conundrum, isn't it?

"Well, I suppose you three have much to talk about." If owls could smile, Falliss would be beaming. "I suppose I had better leave you to it." He turned and started to shuffle out the door.

"Yaaaaaaah!"

Quincy looked for the source of the anguished cry, and with a jolt of shock he watched as Vincent bounded forward and leapt high into the air, his momentum carrying him clear over Hector's body and onto Falliss's back. The barn owl hooted in pained surprise as the hare drove a dagger deep into one of his folded wings. Falliss shrieked, feathers flying everywhere as he flailed, seeking to unseat the dangerous parasite. Vincent stabbed and slashed indiscriminately, tears pouring from his eyes.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore!" the hare shouted. "I'm not afraid of you! You'll never hurt my daughters! Ahh!"

Falliss had managed to clamp his beak around Vincent's arm and threw him to the floor with a neat flick of the head. Before Vincent could so much as move, Falliss struck, his curved beak tearing the hare's throat wide open. For a moment the Professor stood over the prone body, both wings slashed beyond use, his chest heaving and eyes rolling madly. Rather than try and regain his usual composure or attempt to save face with a witty comment, he turned and waddled out as fast as his aged legs would carry him.

When he had gone, Biara hurried to Vincent's side, but after only a few moments of inspection she shook her head. Jolice looked as though she might faint, and Quincy steadied her.

"He...he wasn't a traitor after all," she murmured, tears streaming down her face. "He was just afraid of Falliss. He was raised to be, he couldn't help it...He...called me his daughter..."

"Jolice, you need to lie down," Quincy said. "You haven't slept all night. It'll do you a world of good."

"What's to stop us from just attacking the front gate?" Desmond asked Biara.

"Increased security," the marten said. "It's bound to increase even more than it already has. We'd still be outnumbered. Who knows? Falliss might even order all the servants to attack for attempting that. Quincy, what do you think?"

"I think I'm too exhausted to think," the hare said. "Jolice is tired too. I can't discuss anything right now."

Desmond looked thoroughly annoyed. "But you heard what Falliss said! Sunset! Death! Remember?"

"And the sun has just barely risen," the hare countered. "We have plenty of time to discuss this, and it'd be better to do so when I'm able to think properly."

The leveret was given to a weasel nurse to look after as Quincy and Jolice exited into one of the hidden passages.

* * *

Quincy and Jolice sat side by side at the foot of Quincy's bed, leaning against the foot board. A steady stream of tears continued down the haremaid's face.

"I just don't understand," she said. "Everything was going so well with Mum. I just...I don't get what happened."

"Biara didn't...?" Quincy suggested.

"No, Biara was actually very gentle with her. She didn't do anything she shouldn't have, at least, not that I could tell. I don't understand it. Why did she have to die?"

"I've asked myself the same thing about my parents for as long as I can remember," Quincy said. "I'm fairly certain there's no answer. Not any answer we can possibly know anyway."

He turned to look at her. She looked at him, her dark eyes shining softly with tears. As he gazed at her he could feel something welling up in his breast, like a young seedling straining to break through the dark topsoil and ascend to the glittering heavens.

Quincy placed his paw on hers. Her fur was warm and impossibly soft. "Jolice, I'm so sorry for everything that's happened. You've been a good friend to me...a really good friend."

Through her tears, the haremaid smiled a smile he had never seen before, and he tried desperately to fathom the meaning behind it. "I hope that's not all I've been to you, Quincy."

"Oh 'Gates, no..." Quincy gasped in realization, pulling Jolice close to him in one swift movement. "A thousand times no..."

Her eyes were wide, twin pools that drew him toward her better than any predator enticing its prey. They were much too close now, and breathing seemed an almost foreign task. His lips brushed hers lightly and the feeling burst within his chest; a dizzying euphoria thrummed madly through his veins, making his head spin as their lips met again and again.

Pulling away was agony, though at length he managed. "You're everything," he murmured, drawing her close again.

* * *

Quincy wasn't sure how long he lounged in his chair, watching Jolice sleep, a smile fixed unwaveringly on his lips. He could scarcely believe what had happened earlier; he felt almost as though they had slowly been building up to that ever since the day they had met, and yet it still had caught him utterly by surprise. Despite everything that had happened since his stay in the castle, the hare's heart felt surprisingly light. He didn't want to think about what lay ahead, but he was confident that they would make it out all right.

They just had to.

After some time Jolice stirred, rolling over and slowly opening her eyes. "Quincy," she mumbled, "didn't you sleep at all?"

"A bit," he lied.

She blinked sleepily at him. "What time is it?"

"Er, some time past noon. Might be closer to evening. I don't really know." He knelt beside the bed and planted a gentle kiss on her lips. "At this moment I don't particularly care."

Jolice smiled. "I'm not sure I do, either. But won't Biara and Desmond be wanting to make plans?"

"I suppose. If you're feeling rested now, we can go back down to the armory."

Jolice's smile grew wider. "I feel fairly wonderful, actually."

She slid out of bed. Quincy gave her one last kiss before they went to the door. Quincy pulled the door open and held it for her.

"After you," he said with a playful smirk.

But Jolice stood rooted to the spot, her eyes widening with horror.

"It...it can't be!"

"Joli? What is...?"

The door was slammed back on its hinges, knocking Quincy to the ground. Agatha burst into the room, and before Quincy could even had time to draw breath, her dagger shot viciously forward. Jolice gasped, staring down at the dagger hilt protruding from her stomach. She slid to the floor, coughing wetly.

"JOLI!" Quincy screamed.

"That one's for earlier," Agatha snarled. Dark blood had caked into the fur on the side of the rat's head and she looked more vicious than ever.

It was as if he had been knocked unconscious in his fall and was merely dreaming. Jolice tugged feebly at the dagger stuck clear through her but soon gave up, her paws falling limply to the floor.

The next thing Quincy knew, he was on top of Agatha, driving his fists into the rat's skull and screaming, "YOU KILLED JOLI! I'LL KILL YOU!" over and over again. The rat screamed between blows, screamed for help, screamed for mercy, but Quincy only granted her pleas with pain.

A rage like never before gripped him, and Quincy allowed himself to be lost in it completely. All he could see was the rat thrashing helplessly beneath him, her blackened and bloodied eyes rolling about in a panic, and her shrieks were spurring him on to more vicious attacks. She'd hurt Jolice; she deserved as much agony as he could possibly give to her.

Agatha kept begging him to spare her life, and Quincy finally responded with a hard jab to her throat, collapsing her windpipe. He rained blow after blow on the rat, long after she had stopped moving and his aching fists were soaked with her blood.

"Quin...cy..."

The gentle voice snapped him out of his trance. Quincy rolled off Agatha, leaving the dead rat as he crawled almost blindly toward the voice.

"Jolice, I'm here," he said. "Don't worry, Agatha can't hurt you again."

He sat, cradling the haremaid's head in his lap. Blood had spread all around the dagger hilt now. Jolice's eyes looked strangely glazed, and a dribble of blood leaked out the corner of her mouth.

"This isn't so bad!" he said bracingly. "I'll go get Biara; she'll patch you up, and you'll be fine!"

Jolice just gave a weak smile and shook her head. Then she coughed, and more blood leaked from her lips.

"No, don't be like that, Joli! You're going to be just fine. We're going to get out of here and then we can just live on our own with no one to bother us anymore. Just the two of us, not a bally care in the world."

"Quin...cy..."

Her voice was so faint, Quincy had to bend down close to hear her properly. She smiled, and Quincy could tell it was taking her a great effort to do so.

"Quincy, I...love you."

"I love you, too," he replied. Why had it taken him so long to say it?

The haremaid's eyelids fluttered as her eyes began to close.

"No!" Quincy sobbed. "No, no, no! You can't leave me! I've got nothing left! I'm nothing without you! Please, Joli!"

Jolice's ragged breaths slowed and finally ceased. Quincy held her tightly to him, rocking her still body gently and kissing her soft fur as hot tears spilled from his eyes. For how long he sat there he didn't know. And then an answer came to him. The hare got up and staggered to the door, spilling out into the hall and tumbling to the floor as though drunk. He clawed at the walls, howling out his misery as he pulled himself upright.

Whether the hare chose to go to Biara's room or was drawn there unconsciously, he wasn't certain. All he remembered was that he was suddenly kneeling in front of the marten's dresser, digging through various herbal supplies. His paw felt something smooth and cool and he grasped hold of it. A vial. He had no idea what kind of liquid it contained, though a miniscule skull and crossbones had been drawn upon the label.

Quincy stared at the vial. The skull stared back.

Everyone in this castle that he had cared about had ended up dead. Sootpaws, Raine, Flynn, Rhea, Saveaux...Jolice...

"You were right, Nallmian," he murmured. "I am a terrible leader. I am the reason everyone's dead."

Maybe Biara and Desmond didn't deserve to live, but neither did he. At least they had been true to themselves. It seemed so long ago that Quincy had sworn to himself never to kill again, to live a life of peace. Since then, he'd watched as his friends had fallen all around him, and now Agatha had died at his own paws, even though the rat had begged him for mercy. He'd become a failure the moment he'd hurled his saber into the tossing waves. He couldn't save his friends from Falliss, and, worst of all, he had utterly failed himself.

He didn't care about Falliss's stupid game anymore. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of spilling Biara and Desmond's blood. He'd already done far too much damage, and now he was utterly alone. His life was meaningless. That was the bottom line. Without anyone he cared about, without Jolice...his life was worthless, a crumpled scrap of parchment good for nothing else but to be discarded in the fire and snuffed out in seconds.

The cork popped out easily. Quincy took a deep breath and poured the bitter liquid down his throat. First, nothing. Then, his veins ignited and he cried out in agony. His heart raced. Every inch of his body was on fire. He collapsed, the vial rolling from his bloody paw. The room spun out of focus.

_Joli...I'm coming..._

Blackness consumed him.


	89. Love Me Dead

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 87. Love Me Dead  
**

_by Desmond  
_

_"…I shall give the three remaining guests until sunset to decide in some way, whether through duel, sacrifice, or some other means, which two shall die, and which one gets to leave the castle._

The words, burned into Desmond's memory, played over and over in his head as he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom and considered: should he wear the white cravat, or the cream? The white was more formal, but the cream suited his coloring better and set his eyes off to advantage. At last deciding on the latter, Desmond carefully tied it around his neck with utmost care.

Two of them were going to die before tonight – possibly all three of them. Desmond wasn't sure which it would be, (though he had his suspicions,) but he knew one thing for certain.

If he was going to die, he was going to die in style.

Slipping on his best silk waistcoat, the squirrel buttoned it and surveyed his reflection in the mirror. Perfect. Last, he slung his jacket over his good shoulder, neglecting to put it on properly until he could see Biara and have her change the bandage on his injured arm. The wounds were healing excellently, according to the marten; Desmond found this puzzling, as they still hurt every day, but they did look quite a bit better, so he really couldn't complain. The shallow cuts on his face, on the other hand, had all but healed over, though they itched frequently.

He was ready. Desmond frowned, fixed his headfur slightly, nodded in approval, and strode from the room and across the hall. Biara would most likely be there; she wasn't needed anywhere else, he thought, as he knocked on the door.

"Biara? Are you in?"

The door, merely pushed to, drifted ajar from the force of his knocking. Hearing neither an objection nor an invitation, Desmond stepped into the room and glanced about to see if the marten was inside.

He blinked. She was not. Quincy, however, was. Desmond frowned; unless there was something wrong with the hare's room, he couldn't think of any reason for Quincy to be sleeping in a crumpled heap on Biara's floor – unless, perhaps he'd been hurt and had come here looking for help?

Curious, Desmond approached the hare and nudged him gently with one footpaw. "Quincy?"

The touch rolled the hare onto his back. Desmond's breath caught in his throat as he saw that Quincy wasn't breathing. His gaze flickered about, panic mounting as he noticed the empty bottle that had rolled a short distance from the hare, the jumbled mess of Biara's bag – Biara carried poisons, he remembered. Quincy's paws were bloody, but he seemed fine otherwise – aside from the fact that he appeared to be dead.

Without knowing what he was doing, Desmond found himself on his knees, grabbing the hare's wrist and feeling for a pulse; nothing. Still holding the hare's paw uselessly, the squirrel stared at the dead beast's face.

"Well," he said, his voice strange in the silence, "That leaves Biara and I."

That was all there was to it, wasn't there? He'd already accepted that two of them were going to die before nightfall – why was it such a shock that one of them had already done so?

"You know," he said quietly to the corpse, gaze fixed on Quincy's staring eyes, "It's rather sad. You were the only one who cared." He glanced at the empty bottle again and frowned. "'Gates, why'd you do it, Quincy?"

Not that he _minded_. All it meant was that there was less work for him.

…Right?

_'Gates,_ he thought, disgusted. _What's happened to me?_

He was – he was angry, he realized. And tired. Tired of the castle, of the constant deaths, of Falliss, who seemed to think it was all one droll joke. He and Biara deserved to die, he thought bitterly; Saveaux was wrong when he'd thought they could be saved. Nobeast could truly change. Desmond knew that better than the newt possibly could. But Quincy – Quincy was still young. And despite any ridiculous ideas he had about pacifism, he didn't deserve to die – especially not by his own doing.

The squirrel realized he was still holding Quincy's paw, and he twitched as he discovered why he'd noticed. It was barely there – just a weak, feathery beat – but there was a whisper of a pulse. It was so faint… But it was _there_. Desmond dropped the hare's paw and tried to think.

Quincy would die without immediate help, that much was clear. Desmond just wasn't sure if the only beast who _could_ help him would be willing to; still, it couldn't hurt to try. Desmond leapt to his feet and ran to the door, throwing over his shoulder, "I'll be back!" He didn't know if the hare could hear him or not, and he didn't bother to stay and see. Sprinting through the castle's halls, he tried to think where Biara might be – still in the armory, perhaps? He flew down the stairs to the first floor, but a quick search of the armory proved fruitless. Panic swept over him. What if he couldn't find her?

Exiting the armory, he paused outside the door and listened carefully; there was a "chinking" sound from the dining room. Hurrying to the dining room entrance, he peeked in. "Biara?"

The marten looked up from her teacup, which she'd been contemplating with a frown. "What is it?"

Desmond's breath was ragged. "Biara, you've got to come," he babbled, near incoherently. "You've got to. Whatever you're doing, it's not important. It's Quincy – I think he's dying…"

The marten gave her tea an inscrutable look and then sighed, rising to her footpaws. "What seems to be wrong with him?"

"He… I think he poisoned himself," Desmond said, a look of bewilderment on his face. "He had rummaged through your bag…"

"My bag?!" Biara hurtled from the room, leaving Desmond to try to catch up with her.

"Yes, your bag! Wait up!" Desmond wheezed, finding that running and shouting simultaneously did not agree with him.

"Nonsense, Quincy's dying! And my bag!"

*

The hare was in the same condition when they arrived, his breathing almost imperceptible. Biara did a quick examination, her expression grim.

"He might have at least _asked_," she muttered, sounding peeved.

"Do you know what he took?" Desmond ventured nervously.

The marten picked up the bottle and shook her head. "It's not labeled properly." She sniffed it. "By the smell, though, I'd say Banewort."

"Ah," said Desmond. "Er. Is that fatal?"

Biara sent him a glare. "Yes," she growled, "Particularly to irritating squirrels who don't know when to keep their mouths shut. Keep quiet, I'm trying to think!"

"Isn't there an antidote?" Desmond demanded, ignoring her threat. "There's always an antidote. For everything." _Except hemlock._

Biara frowned deeply. "I don't remember," she admitted crossly, ears pinned against her head.

Desmond threw up his paws. "How could you have forgotten?!" He demanded. "There's got to be something! Should we just make him vomit?"

The marten scowled. "I didn't plan my life around being trapped in a castle and surrounded by dying beasts," she snarled. "Memorizing the antidotes to every obscure poison was not exactly at the top of my list of things to do." She rubbed the scar on her nose. The action reminded Desmond of the healing cuts on his own face, and they itched sympathetically. The squirrel pawed at the cut along his jaw line in an attempt to ease the irritation.

"Don't scratch your face," Biara told him absently, only a trace of irritation in her tone. "It'll scar."

Desmond stopped instantly and shoved both paws into his pockets.

"It's too late for induced vomiting to do any good," Biara mused to herself out loud. "'Gates, I know there's something for this!" She stared at the hare for a moment as if trying to collect her thoughts, and then whirled around to face Desmond. "Make yourself useful!" she snapped. "Go get me a book from the library – preferably one that specializes in poisons, but any herbal guide will do!"

Desmond scurried to do so.

The library was a mess, and he stared in dismay at the overturned shelves and scattered books. How in 'gates was he supposed to find anything here?! Stumbling over the hefty tomes, he swept up books at random and scanned the titles, tossing them aside when they proved fruitless. He failed to find any that focused primarily on poisons, but he did find two herbal handbooks, which he hastily conveyed back to Biara's room.

"Look up 'banewort,' and 'antidotes,' right away," Biara instructed him the moment his footpaws were over the threshold.

Desmond hurriedly flipped through the first book, but the results were unhelpful. "It only lists induced vomiting as an antidote - "

"Too late for that," Biara cut him off. "Try the other."

The squirrel opened the second book and did a quick search. "Hmm," he said, surprised. "This one tells about another thing you can use as an antidote…"

Biara snatched the book away from him before he could finish and scanned the page, eyes flickering back and forth.

"Of course," she murmured, eyes widening with realization. "I remember now. I had a hellish time getting my paws on it – I could only get it from merchants who sailed far south – but by 'gates, I think I have it with me!" Carelessly tossing the book aside, she swept up her bag of supplies and set it on the bed before beginning her search.

"This would be a lot easier if he hadn't made a mess of things," she muttered, and at last emptied the entire bag onto the bed. After a few moments of hunting, she selected a small glass bottle and inspected the label carefully. "Thought so," she said triumphantly. "Desmond, I'll need your help – open his mouth for me."

The squirrel knelt by Quincy's head and pried the hare's teeth apart, holding Quincy's mouth open as Biara carefully poured a few drops of the tincture under his tongue.

"It gets absorbed fastest there," she explained to Desmond's unasked question. "Let his mouth close."

Desmond did so and they stepped back, watching the hare anxiously. When several minutes had gone by without change, Desmond ventured, "Is there anything else we can do?"

"Shush."

Desmond bit his lip. _Please_, he willed the hare silently. _Breathe._

Biara bent down beside the still figure and checked his pulse again. She arched one eyebrow in surprise. "It's a little stronger," she said numbly.

The squirrel swallowed, eyes frozen on Quincy's face.

_Please?_

The hare's eyes flickered open slowly as he gasped weakly for breath. His gaze skipped around the room and then rested on Desmond and Biara; his eyes widened as realization dawned on him.

"How...?" he swallowed painfully, his voice a hoarse whisper. "What happened?"

Biara cleared her throat. "You stole my supplies and poisoned yourself," she said frigidly. "You're lucky we managed to save you at all."

Quincy blinked at her and looked away, face expressionless. "You shouldn't have bothered," he murmured, a dead sound in his tone.

"Don't be ridiculous," Desmond snapped. "I don't know about you, but I'm sick of beasts dying right and left; I think it's high time we worked together and devised a way out."

The hare didn't speak. A single tear coursed down his cheek, and he didn't bother to wipe it away. Desmond straightened his shoulders and plowed onward.

"Speaking of ending this – I think we all know that escape's out of the question," he said. "If we intend to get out of this alive, then there's going to have to be another way." A questioning silence from the others followed, and he sighed. "Nothing's come to mind," he admitted. "Biara?"

The healer looked up from the vial she had been studying silently. "I think I may know just the thing," she grinned. "But first, would either of you like some tea? I imagine you must be worn out..."


	90. Panic Attack

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 88. Panic Attack  
**

_by Biara  
_

Biara examined the contents of her teacup with mild enthusiasm. It was almost as if there was some sort of pattern on the bottom, but she couldn't quite make it out.

Glancing upward briefly, the marten twitched a disinterested ear at the bodies of her two companions, draped in grotesque positions with broken teacups of their own littered about. Biara had to lament the passing of the ceramics.

She was vaguely considering heating up some more water when she heard a variety of footpaws thudding against the castle's stone floors outside, and the medic stayed seated, her tail curling and swishing restlessly against her chair leg. Although her expression remained blank, the marteness couldn't help but feel an irritating _something_ tug incessantly at her heart; she only hoped this would be over and done with soon.

Biara blinked as somebeast, no doubt Falliss, rapped on her bedroom door. She smiled despite herself; the timid little taps didn't quite convey the Professor's bloodthirsty intentions exceptionally well. _At least he's still pretending to be polite._

The pine marten decided that she might as well pretend right back, and went to answer the door. She found herself facing a rather smug-looking Falliss, backed by a unnerving number of hard-eyed servants. Biara was surprised at how many of the loyal servants remained, and the uncomfortable feeling from earlier only increased.

The Professor glanced from the bodies to Biara, and then nodded once, as if satisfied. "I had imagined something of the sort would have occurred. It is only natural, Miss Sable, that your true 'killer instinct', if I may say so, would win out over any superficial emotions you may have harbored for these woodlanders."

Without skipping a beat, the owl stepped back and nodded dismissively to a smartly-dressed ferret standing just behind him, who, in turn, tossed Biara something small. Snagging it reflexively, the marten inspected the object and looked up, blinking.

"I believe an intelligent beast such as yourself would be familiar with a key, yes?" Falliss inquired, in an almost bored tone. "They're quite simple, really. A beast usually uses them to unlock doors, or in this case, gates."

Biara curled her claws around the cold steel. "You mean, I can go?"

"Yes." Without as much as a 'by-your-leave,' the aged owl had waddled into the room and began to inspect the remnants of Quincy's teacup with a talon.

"Do make yourself at home." Biara's voice was particularly icy.

"Naturally," the Professor said, without looking up. "Perhaps you've forgotten, Miss Sable, but even though you haven't the slightest regard to other beast's property, this is _my_ castle and, in fact, _my_ room." The faintest tinge of anger colored the owl's words. "Your antics in regards to the lives of my servants have been most irritating, and I'm afraid my patience grows thin. If you do not remove yourself from the premises promptly, I might just simply have you killed."

Biara quirked her ears toward each other. She had imagined a variety of words, curses mostly, that she could have said to the Professor ever since she had arrived at the castle. At the moment, however, the only thing she could manage was, "Oh."

"I trust you can find the way out yourself?" The anger in Falliss' voice had disappeared, replaced by a bored nonchalance.

The marteness nodded numbly, "Yes." She frowned.

"Good." Falliss raised his head and Biara tensed, her blade paw twitching in preparation for the command to attack that was bound to come any second.

Instead, the owl turned his attention toward the ferret who was still standing at the door. "Adam, ready the servants. Miss Sable needs time to pack her things. You will go and take care of the silly little 'rebellion' in the armory, and bring the breeding servants back to their room. See, too, that care is taken to repair the damage done by our most _gracious_ guests."

The ferret dipped his head. "Yes, Master; at once."

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Biara saw Falliss give Desmond a curious kick. Her heart gave a scary little jolt that coincided wonderfully with the Professor's surprised hoot as the squirrel curled up instinctively, hissing in a painful breath. His eyes widened in realization when he saw the Professor's wickedly hooked beak inches away from his face, and he scooted backwards with a yelp, neatly toppling Biara's chair.

Without thinking, Biara launched herself at the Professor, plunging both of her knives into his back before he could attack Desmond. The old owl collapsed, a mixture of pain and shock stamped onto his features.

Quincy's eyes shot open, and Desmond rose shakily to his footpaws. "Is he…?"

Biara halfway raised her bloodied knives.

"The Professor! She's killed him!"

The medic whipped her head around and found herself looking right into the panic-stricken eyes of Gregory, who had been hanging around with the other servants outside her door. Biara sniffed; she was hardly in the mood.

"So I have," she said, lightly, inspecting the tip of one of her knives. "Serves him right, keeping us all prisoner like that and coming into my room without asking. What do you propose to do about it?"

Mere seconds before the well-organized servants charged, Biara realized that wasn't exactly the most cunning way she could have dealt with the situation. But even as she just barely blocked a blow to the head, it _still_ felt good.

Everything was chaos. The clash of metal, and, to Biara's dismay, the sound of well-made furniture collapsing abounded as servants pushed and shoved their way into her room to attack her and the other guests. Furious at having to defend her belongings yet again, the marteness took a moment to steady her mirror before parrying a wide slice from a mouse.

A splintering crash caused Biara to whirl around. She hissed furiously, not at the hedgehog coming after her, but at the broken leg he had removed from her chair. She had just righted in not five seconds since! Ripping the chair leg from the hedgehog's paws, she dealt the woodlander a crippling blow to the head before discarding the splintered wood with a snarl.

Backing away and drawing her knives, Biara just barely registered Desmond and Quincy out of the corner of her eye. The hare had his composure in the blink of an eye, and seemed every inch the Long Patrol warrior. He held off his own even without a weapon, although his mouth was set in a grim line as he doggedly ducked and weaved.

Desmond, however, was overwhelmed. The squirrel's eyes were wide with fear as he desperately evaded sledgehammer blows by a hair, and a sudden sense of despair washed over Biara. After all she'd done for him! _His injuries! They'll reopen!_ The cold feeling turned to anger and she snarled, rushing headlong into the fray. "Stop dying, 'Gates damn you!"

The marteness barely registered the shocked expression on Desmond's face before she pivoted sharply and stabbed a mole in the throat. As she slashed away, the intoxicating scent of blood began to creep over her, followed by a familiar giddiness. It was so _warm_. So welcoming...

Gritting her teeth, the medic clamped down on it. _Time for all of that when I don't have beasts in my care._ She waved her blades menacingly, and a few of the surrounding servants backed off, forced to consider a new strategy.

"Desmond!" Biara shouted, sheathing one of her daggers and forcefully grabbing one of the squirrel's paws. "We have to get out, now!"

For once, the aristocratic squirrel was simply too shocked to utter anything other than a squeak that sounded vaguely like "Behind!"

Biara turned to find the blunt edge of a cudgel. She ducked with a scream, but not soon enough; the blow, although hardly the fatal strike it was intended to be, sent the healer spinning into the edge of her bed. Growling at the throbbing pain in her barely-healed tail, she lashed out blindly, expecting the final crushing blow to come at any second…

Instead, she felt herself heaved bodily to her footpaws by the scruff. The marteness was utterly perplexed to find Quincy peering inquisitively at her.

"As much as I enjoy being stared at, we need to jolly well scarper before we're _all_ killed." He offered a grim smile. "You're welcome, by the way."

Biara dodged a crushing blow from the weaseless who had been wielding the cudgel. The marten flicked her paw expertly and the weasel howled at the knife that had seemed to grow out of her side and collapsed onto Biara's bed. Turning around and trying not to think of having to clean the blood out of her sheets, the pine marten felt Desmond grab her paw once more and the three guests hurtled out of the healer's room. Quincy provided cover for the marten and squirrel, dealing out crushing blows with his powerful hind legs to any servants unfortunate enough to be by the door.

The marten healer squinted desperately; the staircase was just in sight! Just a little more and they'd be free.

"Not so fast, murderers!"

Biara barely had time to recognize the voice and half-turn before Gregory stamped down cruelly on the female marten's tail. She squealed and overbalanced, an exhilarating rush roaring in her ears as she teetered on the edge of the stairs. Through the tear-blurred vision, she saw Quincy rush forward just as Desmond reached out. She replied in kind before she could even think about it.

She felt herself pulled roughly onto solid ground, wincing. "'Gates, Desmond," she grumbled, trying to find her voice. "You nearly pulled my arm right out."

"Did I?" The squirrel wore a cocky smirk, although it was probably a little shakier than he would have preferred.

Both beasts watched as Quincy and Gregory dueled, although now that the element of surprise was gone, it was clear who had the upper paw. _Good thing, too_ Biara thought, a fresh wave of pain through her wrecked tail making her shudder.

Suddenly, the sound of a large number of pawsteps approaching could be heard. Biara and Desmond exchanged glances. _'Gates, how many more servants are there?_ After a moment, however, the medic realized that even Gregory, too, had stopped. Out of the corner of her eye she could see male marten, nursing his injured paw and a swollen right eye, back away. Preparing for the worst, the medic drew one of her daggers and slid slightly in front of Desmond.

A motley assortment of servants lead by a rat and a hedgehog stepped over the threshold, expressions unreadable. The rat's eyes narrowed. "The Master is dead," he announced, in a monotone. "Is it true that you are the beasts responsible?"

Quincy snorted, vocalizing Biara's thoughts quite nicely. "No, the ruddy maniac went and died of old age."

Suddenly, the emotionless mask broke, and, surprisingly enough, a thin smiled played about the rat's eyes. "Thank Vulpuz." He turned to face the other servants. "We protect these guests at all costs! It is because of them that we are finally free!"

"Traitors!" The cheering of the newly-arrived group of servants was cut short by Gregory's howl of rage. "You would join these heartless beasts? The Professor has given us all sustenance and a warm home and _this_ is how you repay his kindness?!"

The hedgehog sneered. "What would you know of anything, Breeder?"

Biara smirked; _Not so bad for a Woodlander._

"It's your move now," the rat continued, squaring his shoulders. "The Professor is dead, but that doesn't mean we should have to die with him. Listen to me, Gregory: Lay down your arms, and we can work together. Let us rebuild this castle as a place where we can all live."

Gregory must have known there was no way for him to fight, and the scowl on his face only intensified. "Never!" He spat. Before any of the servants could say anything, he reached for one of the torches on the wall and threw it at the rat, who didn't quite dodge in time. Howling in pain, the rodent staggered right into a huge tapestry, which fell on top of him, the dry cloth instantly bursting into flame.

Biara, Quincy and Desmond had leaped to the side before they were enveloped by the flaming tapestry, but smoke was beginning to billow around the hallway as the hungry flames licked greedily at oil paintings, portraits, and, to Biara's horror, the door to her room.

"W-we need to get out, now!" Desmond shrieked, nearly tripping on his own tail in his haste to escape the blaze.

"Wait!" Quincy whirled around. "I need to find the babe!"

The hallway was embroiled in chaos, escape and survival being the only things on beast's minds as they pushed, shoved and struggled. Some attempted to put out the fire, but it was getting harder to see in the red-tinged haze, and the smoke was only spreading, making fighting the fire a futile attempt, desperate at best.

Biara shivered despite the heat; she'd dealt with burn victims before. It was all too easy imagining the glowing smoke wrapping itself around her. Burning, scalding, unremorseful flames, slow suffocation—

"Biara!" The marteness jumped at Quincy's call. "What are you doing?"

"Er, I'm coming!" Tearing her gaze away from the conflagration, she ran.

Biara didn't think a fire could spread so quickly in such a castle, but anything that could burn, burned, and the tables, chairs and tapestries lining the walls were certainly no exception. The escaping guests made their way as quickly as possible, nearly flying down the stairs, but Biara began to tremble despite herself. What if they couldn't get out in time? What if something was wrong with the gate? Her face remained carefully free of emotion, but her movements became erratic.

Desmond, being the shortest, was suffering the least from the smoke. He pointed toward the door to the gatehouse. "There it is! We're nearly there!" The squirrel almost pitched forward as Biara ran ahead, tugging his paw with enough force to nearly dislocate his shoulder.

"Wait, what happened to the key?"

Biara froze. "I…"

"Oh, no need to worry; I've got it."

Almost as if materializing from the very flames of Hellgates, the stately figure of Professor Falliss leered at the escaped guests from his position in front of the controls.

"Falliss!" Desmond shouted, although it ended up as more of a cough.

"Yes, that's my name." The normally passive owl was just barely controlling his anger. "I'm so glad you've showed up. They say the Captain goes down with his ship, don't they? Well, I'm afraid you've broken your bargain… fortunately, I'm still willing to keep up my part. You see, I'm close to death from your little trick, but if I have to die, I'm afraid all of you will be joining me."

"Oh really?" Biara drew her knives. "There's only one of you, you know. I would say that's a very poor decision on your part."

"Is it?" Falliss cocked his head. "I'm weakened, perhaps, but do you have the time to fight me? The longer you take, the more time for the fire to get to you… the smoke to scorch your lungs…" Biara couldn't stop the shudder. Falliss' eyes twinkled. "Fascinating."

"You… " The marteness made a strangled noise, half-cough, half-snarl.

The Professor only laughed in response. "That's right, Miss Sable, get angry. It's all you can do, after all. Don't try to deny your nature." Biara could already feel the heat on her back as Falliss raised the key in his talon. "It would be easy for you. Just attack me. You of all beasts should have no problem with that."

The flames roared like a wild beast, licking at the edges of the room. Biara crouched as if ready to lunge and the Professor leered at her. Suddenly, she sheathed her daggers, a sense of calm filling her; if she was to die, it was not to be fulfilling the wishes of a madbeast. "Done with your ramblings, you daft fool? That's all to be left of you once your precious research burns—"

Biara never finished. There was a frighteningly fast streak of feathers, and she was left shrieking and clutching at her face. Falliss swallowed the pine marten's eye with relish. "It is you who is the fool!" He screeched.

Biara whimpered something incoherent. The Professor cocked his head. "What's that?" He asked maliciously, "I'm afraid I can't hear you."

The owl gasped in shock, and looked down at the blade buried to the hilt in his stomach. "I said," Biara gasped, "go to Hellgates."

"I... but how... you're just... vermin—" A great shudder shook the ancient owl, and his eyes misted over, his last memory on earth of being tricked by who he thought to be only a mindless killer.

Half-seeing the Professor's expression, the pine marten medic collapsed and succumbed to the encroaching darkness, a smile on her face.


	91. Don't Look Back In Anger

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 89. Don't Look Back In Anger  
**

_by Quincy  
_

"Biara!"

Quincy ran to the marten's side, rolling her over onto her back. His stomach did a backflip at the sight of blood flowing quite freely from her empty eye socket.

"Quincy, let's go!" Desmond urged. "We've got to get out of here!"

The squirrel was right. There was no time to think; there was only time to do. The hare hoisted the fallen healer into his arms and staggered toward the gatehouse. Desmond scooped up the key from where the professor had dropped it and unlocked the gatehouse door. The squirrel darted in ahead of the hare and began to fumble with the controls.

"Cowards!" a voice howled behind them.

Quincy turned back to see Gregory kneeling at Falliss's side. The marten had clearly cracked.

"That's right, run, all of you, abandon the Professor!" he shrieked. "I, I alone will stay with him until the end! I alone will be faithful!"

"Gregory!" Quincy yelled over the flames and chaos. "You don't have to die! Come with us now and live!"

"Leave him," Desmond growled. "Let him die if that's what the stupid nutter wants."

Smoke billowed thickly through the air now, so much so that it was becoming difficult to see the room around them. Quincy coughed, his lungs burning with each labored breath.

"Desmond, get that drawbridge down now!" Quincy urged.

"I'm—trying!" the squirrel panted, struggling with a lever that appeared to be stuck. With a jolt that threw him to the floor, the lever unstuck and the drawbridge sprang free, the heavy chains unfurling as it descended to earth. With a thud, it touched down on the other side of the moat.

"Everyone, _move_!" Quincy roared.

A small pawful of servants and breeders ran past, pouring out over the drawbridge. Desmond scrambled after them, followed by Quincy, who moved as quickly as the burden in his arms would allow.

The escaped creatures moved away from the castle, Quincy following them until he could no longer handle the marten's weight. Falling to his knees, the hare set Biara down in the snow before turning to watch the castle.

Clouds of black smoke billowed from the open doorway, but as they continued to watch for several minutes, no more of its inhabitants emerged.

* * *

A rather restless night followed. By morning, smoke still wafted from the gatehouse, though in an almost lazy sort of way, not unlike the slow spiral of smoke from the chimney of a cozy cottage on a bitter midwinter day.

Instead of a cozy cottage, the survivors of the Castle of Professor Falliss had a freezing night huddled together in the snow. Desmond and Quincy had made Biara as comfortable as possible and bandaged the marten's head with a strip of her own cloak.

"That's about all we can do for her presently," Desmond said as the survivors huddled together in the chilly dawn air. "If only we had her medical supplies, we might be able to do more."

Quincy gazed in the direction of the castle, shivering. For the first time since his initial entrance into Falliss's domain, he almost longed to be back inside, if only for the warmth within its walls.

"The smoke's died down now," Quincy said. "I think I'll go in and see if I can find it."

Desmond raised an eyebrow at the rather casual way the hare had put this idea forth. "Er, I'm not sure that's exactly the safest thing to do?"

Quincy shrugged. "I don't massively care at this point, chap."

"Look, if you're just doing this to finish what you—"

"I'm not!" the hare snapped, leaping to his footpaws.

Quincy turned away and started for the castle. He never, ever wanted to have to think or speak about the events of yesterday afternoon, for as long as he lived. Desmond's sudden reminder made the hare want to distance himself from the squirrel as far away and as quickly as he could.

Crossing the drawbridge, Quincy held his cloak up to his nose and stepped inside.

* * *

A while later, Biara awoke.

"Wha...What...?"

The marten reached a shaky paw up to her makeshift bandage, but Desmond smacked it away.

"Don't touch that, you silly beast. You of all creatures should know that."

Biara turned her head from side to side, her single eye scanning her surroundings. "Where are we?"

"The Candied Chestnut Forest," Desmond smirked. "And our fearless King Quincy has gone back into the Oatfarl Castle for..."

"Back in? What d'you mean, back in?" Biara finally sat up, all traces of grogginess gone. "Wasn't it kind of...on fire last time we left it? How long have I been unconscious?"

"Relax. Why, here comes our suicidal sovereign now."

A rather lopsided figure could be seen trudging through the snow toward them. As it drew closer they could see just why it looked so awkward; Quincy was holding a rather large bundle wrapped in a blanket and had several bags slung over his shoulders. The hare's fur was coated in copious amounts of soot.

He stopped a short distance from the rest of them, setting the bundle down gently in the snow.

"Here are your herbs, Biara," he said, offering the bag to the marten. "Turns out the fire only burnt out part of the first floor. Since there aren't really any windows it suffocated itself shortly after. The other floors were fine, and I managed to grab a few things from the kitchens as well." He tossed another bag down in the snow.

"If you'll excuse me, I've got other things to attend to. Gerald, Naomi, Ruth, can you come with me for a while? Desmond, you can stay and help Biara."

He grabbed the large bundle back up and began to walk into the woods. The other survivors got up and followed the hare.

"Well, glad to know I've got your permission," the squirrel muttered sullenly.

* * *

In the shelter of the trees, Naomi, Gerald, and Quincy took turns gouging at the frozen earth with sticks, paws, and anything close to paw that proved to be of use. It took a considerable effort, but gradually a sizable hole began to take shape.

Quincy climbed out of the hole to rest for a moment, taking a seat on a rotting log next to the weaselmaid, Ruth. The harebabe slumbered peacefully in her paws.

"Why did you have me come along, Quincy?" she asked. "I've got my paws full, so I can't really help you much."

"I know that. I just wanted to ask you a question, Ruth." He watched the laboring forms of Gerald and Naomi for a while before continuing. "I don't know what the others are going to do, but tomorrow I'm going to go to Redwall."

"Redwall? What does that have to do with me?"

"Well, it's just you've been wonderful with the babe, and I was wondering if you'd like to come with me."

Ruth blinked slowly at him. "I once heard the professor say the Redwallers were not as tolerant of beasts of my species as the beasts in the castle were. He said that out in the world there is a rift twenty leagues wide between two groups of beasts he called woodlanders and vermin. He said beasts like me would be considered vermin outside the castle. If that's true, why would Redwall accept me?"

Quincy put a paw on the weaselmaid's shoulder. "Well, if they've got a problem with you, they've got a problem with me."

Ruth smiled at him.

"Quincy? It's ready."

The hare looked up. Naomi had climbed out of the pit.

"Shall I get the others?" the otter asked.

Quincy merely nodded. Naomi strode off through the trees as the hare went over to the wrapped bundle. He pulled the blanket back slightly.

"Goodbye, Jolice," he said, pulling a small gold paw bracelet off the haremaid's wrist and placing it on his own. "I'll take good care of this for you."

Lifting the bundle, he handed it to Gerald. The rat lowered it into the hole and climbed out. A few minutes later, Naomi brought the rest of them to the hole. Biara was looking better, a much more effective bandage over her face now.

"Quincy has requested that we gather here," Naomi said solemnly, holding a clenched paw over the hole in the ground, "not only to remember the loss of someone very dear to him, but in honor of those other good creatures that did not make it out of the castle alive. May their spirits find rest in the peaceful meadows of Dark Forest."

She unclenched her paw, cold earth trickling from it.

Quincy moved forward automatically, his mind running through the words he needed to say, trying desperately not to think about their meaning. The hare lifted his paw.

"Jolice was..." he swallowed the aching lump that rose in his throat. "I mean...I...loved her. Vincent was a good beast too, and Althea was kind. And Saveaux was just a poor beast trying to do the right thing. I can't say I was overly fond of Kima or Nallmian, but they were in the same situation we were and would have been free to live out their lives if it weren't for the professor. Rhea was a good friend, Flynn a courageous otter, Raine an innocent young maid, and Sootpaws an unwitting but very loyal friend. To all the other beasts whose lives were cut short by the professor, may your souls rest easier knowing that he finally got what he deserved."

Quincy watched the dirt fall from his paw, sprinkling the bundle below. He turned away, not really paying attention to what the others said before each dropping a pawful of earth into Jolice's grave. Once they had all done so, he and Gerald pushed the piles of dirt back into the hole until it was filled.

Quincy stood there for a while, staring at the grave. He felt several pairs of eyes on him but had no desire to return their gaze. He thought vaguely about just bolting, running as fast as his footpaws would carry him and leaving everyone far behind, but he knew nothing he could do would ever blot out the memory of what had taken place in the castle.

He felt a sudden envelopment of warm fur. Ruth was embracing him from behind.

"I'll go to Redwall with you, Quincy," she whispered, then released him and walked away, back toward their camp.

Slowly they trickled out of the clearing, until only he, Biara and Desmond remained. The pair of them were just turning to leave when Quincy growled, "Stay where you are."

They froze. Quincy had drawn Agatha's knife and was wielding it threateningly.

Biara smirked. "Really, Quincy, do you expect us to think _you_ of all beasts is going to..."

"Just shut up and listen to what I have to say to you, Ms. Sable, or so help me I'll gut you both."

A dangerous glint flared in his eyes. Both Desmond and Biara looked genuinely worried, unarmed as they presently were.

"I know what you did," the hare said darkly.

"You...do?" Desmond asked.

"I said shut up, Desmond!" the hare snarled. "I found this in Biara's medicine bag."

He hurled Saveaux's journal at Desmond. The surprised squirrel fumblingly caught it.

"Saveaux told me some of what you did, but now I know the whole picture. You both have behaved in the most despicable way since you've been in the castle. Nearly everything you've done has been for your own gluttonous self-preservation. You've tortured, you've murdered beasts, and you've mutilated the bodies of the dead. You deserve nothing better than what the professor got."

The former Long Patrol hare raised the knife, flipping it lightly and catching it by the blade. Biara and Desmond exchanged nervous looks.

_Sss...thunk!_

The blade buried itself deep into the trunk of a large alder behind Desmond and Biara. Quincy turned away from them, sighing bitterly.

"But I...I forgive you."


	92. Thick As Thieves

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 90. Thick As Thieves  
**

_by Desmond  
_

Desmond stared at Quincy, knees weak with relief. "That's... that's very good of you," he gasped. His eyes flickered between the other two; a more awkward silence couldn't have existed.

"Now if you'll pardon me," he found himself saying, "I've got something to settle with one of the servants." He began to hurry from the clearing, but his steps slowed as he passed the hare and then ground to a halt. Desmond bit his lip and turned back. Hesitantly, he touched Quincy's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Quincy."

*

When Desmond and Biara had returned to the camp, Desmond set about making tea under the marten's watchful eye. Once he had measured the herbs, mixed them, and transferred them into little cloth teabags to her satisfaction, he heated water over the small campfire that one of the servants had built. Two mugs were found, filled with steaming tea, and Desmond sat down next to the marten, peace washing through him as he sipped the bittersweet brew.

So that was that, he reflected, watching the fire. Falliss was dead, they had escaped – and he was forgiven. It was more than he would have asked for – not that he was complaining.

He looked up to see Helena approaching them and sighed. He'd almost forgotten – he was going to have to deal with his daughter.

_Daughter_. The word was so unfamiliar – he'd known Lisa was expecting a child, and truth be told, it was the reason he'd sent her away in the first place. But he'd never dreamed it would ever come back to haunt him like this.

The squirrelmaid sat down across from the two, silently inviting Desmond to make the first step. The male set down his teacup uneasily.

"Helena," he cleared his throat, deciding it was best to just begin without a prelude. "I think you should know – I'm your – "

"Falliss told me," she cut him off, as if to stop him from saying the word. She met his eyes hesitantly, and Desmond berated himself for not recognizing her eyes as his own sooner. Then again, he hadn't exactly been _expecting_ to meet his daughter at the castle; Falliss had done his research even better than the squirrel had thought.

Desmond took a certain cold satisfaction from the fact that Falliss would never get to see just how _this_ little experiment turned out.

"Then you know that I plan to see to it that you're taken care of," he stated calmly.

Helena arched one eyebrow. "I thought you might say that," she said. "But I have other plans." She paused. "I'm going to be Biara's apprentice."

Biara, who had been watching them with interest as she sipped her tea, spluttered, spraying tea over both of them. "Exactly when," she choked out, setting her cup aside and glaring at the female squirrel, "did I say you were going to be my apprentice?"

Helena shrugged carelessly. "You'll be needing help," she pointed out. "I need someplace to go. As far as I can see, we'll be doing each other a mutual favor."

The marten huffed. "Absolutely not."

Desmond cleared his throat. "I concur," he said sternly. "The moment we reach home, I shall see about sending you off to a respectable academy for young ladies."

Helena opened her mouth and then closed it quickly, realizing that there were two of them and one of her, and that Falliss was no longer around to give orders to a handy servant and have them thrown out. "Very well," she muttered, and flounced away.

Desmond glared after his daughter. "She's most disagreeable," he complained to the marten.

Biara smiled innocently. "I wonder where she gets it from?"

*

Little was said the next morning as they gathered what had been salvaged and prepared to set out their separate ways. Desmond noticed that one of the servants, a weaselmaid, was holding the harebabe and waiting at the edge of the camp. Quincy approached her and they exchanged words.

Desmond strode over to the pair, clutching Saveaux's journal in his paws. "Where are you off to?" he asked conversationally, and then added, "Not that it's any of my business."

"No, it's not," Quincy agreed, and then relented. "Redwall."

Desmond hid a shudder. He'd heard about Redwall. It sounded so... _chaste_. "Sounds lovely," he remarked without sincerity. He paused and then took a step closer, as if worried the others would hear him. "Listen, Quincy, I know you're probably dying to see the last of me, but if you ever need – well, anything, really... I mean, that is, if Willikins hasn't ruined everything in my absence, then I have funds to spare and nothing to spend them on – 'gates!" He threw up his paws in despair of articulating his thoughts. "What I mean is... I hope we meet again. Under better circumstances, mind you."

The hare met the squirrel's eyes, saw the truth in them, and smiled slightly. "Perhaps not for a long while, but yes, I'd certainly like that. You're all right by me, chap."

Desmond swallowed and then remembered he was holding the journal. "I thought you might want this," he explained, holding it out.

Quincy stared at the book for a moment and then shook his head. "I think you should keep it. He... wanted it to be read." Quincy cleared his throat.

"Well. We're going to say goodbye to Biara and then be on our way." He nodded curtly to the squirrel. "Fare well, Desmond."

*

Helena was not pleased with the way things were going, but with any luck, she could change that. The squirrelmaid had boded her time that morning, waiting until she could catch Biara alone before she moved surreptitiously to the marten's side. Biara glanced at the younger female and frowned, as if reading her mind.

"No," she said without waiting for an explanation. "I will absolutely not take you with me."  
Helena bit her lip. "I don't think you quite understand," she began, voice hushed. " Imagine that you've spent your entire life not knowing where – not knowing who your father is. And then, when you meet him, he turns out to be a complete - "

"Cad?" Biara supplied helpfully. She smiled and patted the squirrelmaid's shoulder awkwardly. "Desmond's not all that bad, once you get to know him. I wouldn't suggest re-injuring his arm, though – he's getting awfully good with knives." She paused, studying the squirrelmaid's downcast face. "You know, if you're serious about wanting to become a healer, you really ought to study up on it first."

Helena sighed. "I'm sure I'll find something," she said listlessly. "If he doesn't marry me off to some oaf first."

The marten smiled and dug through her bag, extracting a thick tome. "Here – this was the first book I read on healing. I think you'll find it most informative. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to change his bandage one more time before you leave."

*

Arm freshly bandaged, Saveaux's journal carefully wrapped in his jacket, Desmond made the journey home with Helena in tow. She was surprisingly well-behaved, he reflected, and decided to send her to an obscure boarding school the moment he was settled in his house again. After all, it was clear that she didn't like his company any more than he hers, and the farther away she was, the less he had to think about her. It was simply genius.

Tired and pawsore, they arrived at his house after nightfall, fortunately for them; Desmond felt certain that slipping in quietly as if he'd never left was the best tactic. Willikins hid his surprise as he met them at the door and ushered them in.

"I'll have a hot bath," Desmond informed his butler, "And we'd both like dinner." He caught Helena's frown and added, "Separately, in our rooms. See Helena to the guest bedroom – oh, and take Marie's gowns out of storage. I want that atrocity burned." He gestured distastefully at Helena's servant attire. "And once you've finished with all that, I need to talk to you."

Willikins nodded. "Very good, sir."

Desmond turned on his heel and started for his room, slowing as a nagging feeling that he'd forgotten something hit him. "Er," he stopped and then added awkwardly over his shoulder, "Thank you."

Willikins blinked, wondering if the squirrel was quite all right, but didn't take time to dwell on the matter. "This way," he gestured for Helena to follow him. "Would you also like a bath drawn?"

"Er," she hesitated, unused to being waited on. "Not tonight, thank you. In the morning, perhaps."

The mouse nodded expressionlessly. "Quite. Here is the room you'll be staying in," he opened the door for her, "And I'll return in a few minutes with the dresses."

Dazed, Helena entered the room, shutting the door behind her. A room, a house, new clothes, a new life – she pulled the book Biara had given her out of the bag she'd carried all day and smiled. Perhaps she could work all this to her advantage!

*

Hot water. Bubbles. Clean clothes. His own familiar room. Absolutely no pressure to kill everybeast. Desmond couldn't help laughing as he waltzed around his bedroom in his pajamas and bathrobe. He was home!

A light tap on the door brought his celebration to a halt, and he cleared his throat importantly. "Come in!"

Willikins entered the room and bowed slightly. "Sir, I'm afraid I have bad news," he said quickly before waiting for permission to speak. "It's about the murder of that girl – Estella."

Desmond's breath caught in his throat. "Did they find the murderer?" he demanded.

The mouse averted his eyes. "They – have reason to believe... they think it's you."

Desmond nodded slowly. "You tried to divert their suspicions?"

"Yes, sir. I thought you would want me to."

Desmond pondered for a moment and then shrugged. "Well, you know the drill. Find out what their price is and pay them off."

Willikins left the room a few minutes later and Desmond sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. He couldn't help feeling guilty; Estella certainly hadn't deserved to die.

But it was just so frightfully _nice_, being back in a world where money, and not how fast you could run, determined how long you were going to live.


	93. This Was a Triumph

**Chapter 91. This Was a Triumph**

_by Biara_

"I'm not even angry."

Desmond blinked, and Biara chortled. "I'm really quite being sincere, right now. That's the strange thing."

"I haven't the foggiest what you're on about," Desmond muttered, arching an elegant, if slightly singed, eyebrow.

The marteness sighed and turned her head to get a better look at the squirrel. She was going to have to get used to that.

"If you could go back," she began, "before all this mess, I mean, would you?"

Desmond snorted. "Well, let's see: Home, or being trapped in a castle with a variety of unpleasant, unkind, and generally unattractive beasts who wish me dead in a variety of ways? The decision is just so difficult."

The marteness smiled; that response was so utterly _Desmond._ He offered her a withering glance.

"I expect you of all creatures would be the one to enjoy such a beastly mess."

"Hmm." Biara's good eye creased as she twitched her whiskers. "Perhaps I did! Although I think I could do without getting my tail crushed or my tea stolen and burned up."

Desmond frowned, paws akimbo. "What about your eye? Or…" he coughed into his paw, "er, lack of one, rather. Don't you feel it at all?"

"Oh, it's absolutely excruciating," Biara said, investigating a perfectly formed snowflake that had landed on the back of her paw. "It feels like red hot barbed hooks burrowing into the socket." The marten might as well have said "I've got a bit of dirt on my cloak."

Desmond rolled his eyes. "Honestly. I don't suppose I'll ever get a straight answer out of you."

Biara turned her head and offered a sort of not-grin. What she had said was the complete truth; it was a terrible pain. And yet, she couldn't help but delight at the feeling of the wind tugging at her cloak and the snow against her fur.

And leading Desmond on was just so enjoyable.

Biara cocked her head. "I saw you talking with Quincy just now," she said, her tone growing slightly more serious. Desmond nodded, and she sighed.

"Bother. Looks like I'm going to have to do the same before I go…" she wasn't particularly looking forward to it, but even she couldn't let herself get away with slinking out of camp without at least saying goodbye.

The squirrel nodded once more. "Yes. You should," he said, curtly.

"Why," Biara said with a grin, "are you trying to get rid of me, Desmond? I'm afraid it won't work that easily." She squinted. "You know, when we first met I never thought there could be anything good about you. I do suppose I was wrong. You're not so utterly useless after all."

A small smile flitted across Desmond's face. "Oh? Well, I suppose I could say the same. After all, I concede it's not _your_ fault that you're an unattractive, ill-bred psychopath."

"Well, I'm glad we've come to understand one another," Biara said with a slight bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Shouldering the small pack that contained the remainder of her supplies, the marten slunk off in search of Quincy.

Or rather would have, if she hadn't been stopped.

"Miss Sable?"

Biara turned, blinking. "Yes?"

"Do you plan on taking an apprentice?" Desmond asked.

"No." The humor had left Biara's face, and her good eye blazed. "Even if it wasn't Helena. I hate teaching and I don't take apprentices."

The squirrel nodded. "Excellent," he said, his expression decidedly smug. "Then, I expect there will be nothing stopping you from traveling from whatever hole you choose to live in to my home whenever I require a healer. Promptly."

Biara's eye widened for but a moment, but she was back to normal in a blink. "Is that so? Well." She performed a low bow. "I'll be sure to bring plenty of maggots, sir Desmond."

Turning on her heel (a trick she had learned from Desmond), she was about to strut off when she once again stopped herself. "You know," she said, although she didn't turn to face the squirrel. "I suppose there really is a small amount of good in you."

Desmond watched the tall marten's receding form. He blinked; was that sadness in her voice? Just what was wrong with that creature?

--

The day's chores were completed, and the sun began its inexorable descent into the horizon. Quincy retired to his room in the gatehouse, seating himself at his desk. The hare pulled open the uppermost drawer, which groaned in a weary sort of way. A gold paw bracelet sparkled up at him from the shallow bottom. He pulled it out, as he had done every evening, and examined it, his eyes glazed in remembrance.

A knock sounded on his door. "Brother Quincy?"

The hare hurriedly stowed the bracelet in the depths of his wide, green habit sleeve. "Yes? Come in."

Brother Goldleaf sidled in. "How are you, Brother?"

Quincy smiled at the squirrel. "I'm fine, Brother. Surely you didn't come all the way out here just to ask me that?"

"With these old paws? Course not," the squirrel said with a wink. "I've just had a talk with Sister Astoria."

Quincy's gaze fell to his desk, and he tried to appear to be fascinated by the ink stains scattered about its surface. "Oh."

"You know," Goldleaf said, twiddling his paws awkwardly, "she really likes you."

"I'd gathered as much."

"And you should feel lucky; Redwall doesn't get that many hares taking up residence here," the squirrel pressed on doggedly. "You two seem to get on very well together."

"I suppose we do," Quincy said. He knew what was coming next.

"So why," Goldleaf asked, "did she come to me just now, sobbing about how you refused to even take a walk with her this evening? I know it's not my place to impose, but she did seem rather upset..."

Quincy shrugged. "Better for her to be upset now than to be unhappy with me for the rest of her life."

"Brother," Goldleaf pled, spreading his paws wide placatingly, "she knows about what happened. She knows all about the horrors that occurred in that castle all those seasons ago. She knows about Jolice and how you felt toward her."

"Then she knows I could never love another creature as much as I loved Jolice. Thus, she would be unhappy," Quincy snapped. He was rapidly growing tired of this circular argument.

Brother Goldleaf sighed. "Quincy, she knows. She knows everything. Most of all, she knows how unhappy you are, how lonely you've been."

"That isn't true!" Quincy snapped. "I've got Ruth, and Jolara, and they keep me company. I'm not lonely."

"Brother, you know what I mean," Goldleaf said with a knowing smirk. "Sister Astoria just wants you to be happy. Can't you go on one measly walk with her?"

It was Quincy's turn to sigh. The hare clenched his paw tightly around the concealed bracelet. "All right, fine, I'll go on a walk with her."

"Well, that's certainly a good start." Goldleaf winked again, then turned for the door. "I'll be off to the kitchens now for my usual late night snack. Hopefully I won't run into Friar Nettle again. For some reason he thwapped me round the head with a ladle just for nicking some scones. Dreadfully touchy, that mouse. Ah, hello Ms. Ruth, and young Miss Jolara!"

An energetic young haremaid had just burst into the gatehouse, followed by a rather harassed looking weasel. The former grinned at the squirrel. "Hello, Bruvver Goldy! Nunca Quincy!"

Goldleaf exited as Jolara darted forward and hugged the hare about his waist. Quincy smiled down at her, quickly pocketing the bracelet. "Behaving yourself, missy?"

"Hah!" Ruth laughed. "When she's not being a right old terror. Or splashing Mother Tanna with bathwater."

"Well," Jolara sniffed indignantly, "she got baffwater on me!"

"About time someone did," Quincy teased, tweaking the young hare's ears gently. "Ruth, do you mind if I have a word alone with Jolara?"

"Certainly," the weaselmaid said. "If you need me, I'll be helping Mother Tanna get the other Dibbuns to bed."

With that, she left. Quincy knelt down before Jolara, grasping the young hare's shoulders and looking her straight in the eyes. "Listen, Jolara, you know I'm going to be going on a little trip tomorrow."

The haremaid nodded. "Uh huh, you tol' me you're gonna see Rara and Desmo."

"That's 'Biara' and 'Desmond,'" Quincy said with a fond smile, "but yes."

"Why can't I go, Nunca Quincy? You tol' me all about them. I wanna meet them too!"

_I didn't tell you _all_ about them, my dear, and I probably never will._ "Because...it can be dangerous out in the woods, and you'll be safer here."

"But I'm not scared of what's inna woods!" Jolara squeaked, jutting her jaw out defiantly.

Quincy chuckled. "You're so brave, just like your sister was. I tell you what, m'gel; next year I'll take you to meet them, but only if you promise to do your chores and grow up nice and big."

"Oh I promises!" Jolara grinned, nodding furiously.

"And I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but you need to be a good little maid while I'm away. Don't pester the elders too much, and I'd better not hear any horror stories from Ruth."

Jolara sniffed. "Oh, fine. I'll be good."

"Right, now get in your nightgown, wash your face and get to bed," Quincy said, standing up and shooing her to her room. Jolara scuttled away, leaving Quincy alone in the main room of the gatehouse. The hare took the bracelet from his pocket and laid it flat in the palm of his paw. He gazed at it for a while, and eventually set it back in its place in the top drawer before walking out into the abbey lawn. Twilight had set in, bathing the grounds in its silky glow. Quincy didn't notice the haremaid walking toward him until she was about twenty paces away.

"Hello, Quincy," she said.

Her smile was warm and her hazel eyes glistened in the fading light.

"Hello, Astoria."

Quincy found himself smiling in spite of himself. He and Sister Astoria had always been friends, ever since his arrival at the abbey. Somewhere, some part of him cared deeply for her, though he had never been able to determine how big of a part that truly was. Even when he looked at her, he couldn't help but think of Jolice, and the guilt and shame clawed at him until it became maddening.

But she knew it, and still she stood here before him, her paw extended in his direction and that smile still fixed easily on her lips. She did look very pretty, he couldn't deny it. Perhaps Brother Goldleaf was right; perhaps she did just want him to be happy.

After a moment's hesitation, Quincy reached out and grasped her paw in his own. It felt warm and soft, and yet her grip was comfortingly firm.

"Er, shall we?" he gulped.

Sister Astoria's smile grew broader. "Oh yes. Let's."

The two hares meandered through the orchard, talking and joking until the sun peeped over the treetops once more. That night, Quincy knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he'd made the right decision.

--

Desmond took a step into the tavern and sniffed. Why he had ever agreed for _this_ place as the meeting area he didn't know. The amount of dust and grime was nearly palpable. At the very least, vermin were in short supply.

It was not difficult, therefore, to spot Biara. The pine marten was seated alone at a table by the fire, engrossed in a hardbound book. If she had noticed the pointed glances she received from the various woodlanders, she was doing an excellent job of ignoring them. Oddly enough, a pair of spectacles was perched atop the healer's muzzle, even though her missing eye was covered with a leather patch.

"You look utterly ridiculous," he pointed out once he was close enough to be heard.

Biara's ears twitched and she grinned, although her gaze didn't waver from the book. "Oh, my. My very delicate feelings."

"Have you seen Quincy?" Desmond asked, brushing off the top of the chair adjacent to Biara's as best he could before taking a seat.

The marten nodded, this time looking up. "Yes. He went to get something to eat; I expect he'll be bringing the entire kitchen back with him."

"I heard that."

Quincy, a plate of salad clutched in both paws, glared at Biara. As soon as he set down his food, however, His expression lightened, and nobeast was more surprised than Biara when she was suddenly enveloped in a great big badger hug.

"M-my!" The marten said, flustered. "What's this?"

The hare grinned. "I figured that's the only thing I could bally do to make you uneasy." His eyes gleamed. "Your expression was well worth it."

Biara tittered into her napkin, blushing slightly beneath her fur. Her ribs were just a little sore. Perhaps these beasts had learned a bit too much from her.

Desmond offered a courteous nod, tipping his hat politely. "I trust you've been well at that… Redwall… place?"

The squirrel twitched his whiskers distastefully; Quincy had already begun his attack on the meal before he had even finished the question. This did not stop the hare from responding, however.

"Yeshmph! Wonderful place, really; top hole. Much better than that awful mountain." He paused just enough to gulp. "I'm recorder. It's very nice, even if the gatehouse is a bit out of the way. I just hope that I can make Saveaux proud..." The hare's ears drooped a little, and his voice took on a more solemn tone.

"I'm sure you have." Biara nodded sagely.

Quincy went on, smiling. "You chaps are more than welcome to come and visit, y'know. Even you, Desmond. They've got the best food I've ever had, and the kindest beasts..." he turned to Biara. "And I'm sure you would get along swimmingly with the abbey infirmary keeper."

Desmond was not entirely impressed, but he resisted the temptation to study his reflection in his mug.

Biara grinned in kind, nodding briefly. "And what about little Jolara?"

Quincy's face lit up at the mention of his niece. "She's growing to be a fine lass. Top marks in the abbey school, y'know. She wanted ever so much to meet the two of you."

The marten's ears quirked toward one another. "Oh? Gracious. I hope you haven't been telling her any horror stories…"

"You should jolly well be glad that I'm not." Quincy's tone, although jovial, was just pointed enough to let Biara know that she was treading on shaky ground, and she conceded with a slight nod.

"Hmph." Desmond put on a scowl; it seemed he had been practicing. "Speaking of horror stories, you should have seen the letter I got from Helena's school. Apparently, the little wretch has just been accused of sliding hot acorns down the tunics of several young males."

Biara chortled. "My, but she does take after you." Desmond snorted.

"And what about you, Biara?" Quincy asked after inhaling a tart.

The marten shrugged. "What of me? I'm afraid there's nothing at all to say about my life. Unlike you homebodies, I'm only staying around the area briefly. I believe I have a bit more wandering in my future before I settle down. Plenty of beasts in need of a healer, you know. I like to do my best to be helpful."

Desmond cleared his throat rather innocuously.

"Besides," she said, adjusting her glasses. "I'd better get as much done as I can now. I'm not exactly as spry as I used to be."

Quincy blinked. "Speaking of which, don't you think those are a tad… er, excessive?"

The healer practically beamed. "Not at all!" She smoothed out her bib, eyeing the hare over the top of her glasses. "I think they make me look rather dashing, don't you?" She leaned back in her chair, tail swishing against her legs. "I had considered a monocle, but it's not at all my type."

"Excuse me…"

All three survivors turned to face the owner of the meek voice. An elderly vole nodded to them.

"I'm afraid there aren't any free tables, and I noticed an empty chair here…" He fidgeted with his walking stick. "Would you mind if I—?"

"Of course not, chap!" Quincy gestured to the empty seat, which the vole took gratefully, easing himself down. A curious expression graced Biara's face, and Desmond furrowed his brow at the sight of the vole.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but…" his eyes twinkled. "I must say, it's quite remarkable to see woodlanders and vermin getting along so nicely! I never hoped to see anything like this in all my years, and I've seen a good many beasts in my life."

Quincy coughed. "Well, I guess you could say we've got a bit of a bally history together."

The vole nodded. "If you don't mind, I'd love to hear about it." He chuckled. "But, my apologies! I get so curious that I forget my manners. My name is Obadiah."

Quincy spluttered. Biara and Desmond glanced at one another.

The marteness shrugged.

"We would just love to tell you all about it. But first," she said with a small grin, "could I interest you in some tea?"

end of official story.


End file.
